


Sensitivity

by TheaNishimori



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, McSpock - Freeform, Slow Build, spones - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 22:39:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 75,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7910338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheaNishimori/pseuds/TheaNishimori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock learns to appreciate Bones more when he becomes the good doctor's patient in "Star Trek: Beyond." What he learns about McCoy as well as himself through the ordeal makes Spock question whether all of his choices, while logical, were the best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Empathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my first work for the Trek fandom. I emerged from "ST:B" an uncontrollable Sponer or McSpocker. With my apologies to the readers of my other works in progress, I hope this helps me get my writing mojo back. There will be more chapters, although how many is as yet unclear.  
> Live long and prosper! .\\\//

A blinding wave of pain engulfed Spock, sending him crashing to the floor of the long-abandoned building. Even before he could fully regain his breath, McCoy was beside him, assessing his injury.

“Stay down!” the doctor ordered. “I really don’t want to burn you again just to keep you in one piece.”

“I would prefer that... as well,” Spock replied between gasps. “Perhaps I should not have... looked up at the ceiling — it seems to have pulled... on the scar tissue.”

“Oh, you think?” McCoy growled. His right hand landed on Spock’s bare stomach as he examined the wound, causing a flood of emotions to envelop the injured Vulcan, who could not even begin to block them in his current state. _WORRY-WORRY-FEAR-WORRY-WORRY-RELIEF_. Spock flinched at their intensity but did not bother to remind McCoy that he was a touch-empath; he knew that contact was an instinctive thing for the Human, a reflexive act to try to convey comfort.

“Well, you didn’t tear it completely loose, but if you do that again I’m gonna have to cut out the old scar and re-brand you with a new one. So I suggest you _don’t fucking move_ for a while.”

Spock nodded. “I will defer to your... medical expertise.”

“You’re losing more blood, though,” McCoy muttered, still peering under Spock’s shirt. “You’re going to need some water soon, even if it makes you bleed quicker. I’ll go down to the river and get some. Stay here.”

“How will you carry it back?”

“With my bare hands, if need be,” McCoy snapped. “But I should be able to scavenge a tube of some sort from the wreckage of our crash.”

“Doctor, if you return to the site, there will be a greater chance of the enemy finding you.”

“I know that, Spock, but it’s getting dark so we’ll have to shelter here for the night, and I need water too. Just stay still and try not to hurt yourself any more.”

Finding himself in no position to argue, Spock watched McCoy jump down out of the circular structure, then turned his scrutiny back to the writing on the ceiling and walls. He tried to focus on the patterns and commit them to memory. His vision became distorted, as though he were looking through unbalanced lenses, which told him that his injury was affecting his cognitive faculties. He took a deep breath and attempted yet again to will the pain away. It was a discipline of Vulcan meditation: by acknowledging the pain and giving it a place to exist, then closing off that place and relegating it to the back of one’s consciousness, he should have been able to ignore its effects. At least in theory. It was the second theory of the day that had been proven to be, as McCoy would say, “horse shit.”

Spock realized he had drifted off when he was startled by the grunts McCoy made as he hoisted himself back up into the chamber.

“Here, drink as much as you can. I tried to filter it through my sleeve, but if it’s full of parasites, well, then so am I.”

Spock complied as the doctor lifted him with one arm and held the container to his lips. The water tasted metallic but was refreshing after his ordeal.

“So you were saying,” McCoy began as he gently laid Spock down again, “that the writing in this building is the same as on that artifact the Fabona tried to give the Teenaxians?”

Spock nodded, realizing the doctor was trying to distract him from the pain in the only way he could. “Yes. Although the artifact had been scanned and proven to be inert, perhaps our proximity to this planet activated its homing beacon, thereby precipitating the attack.”

“Just our luck to have it on board when we came here,” McCoy grumbled, sitting down next to his patient.

Spock suddenly opened his eyes, startled. “I do not believe it was a coincidence,” he stated, resisting the urge to sit up. “If this is where the artifact originated — the one place where it could be reactivated — it is highly improbable that the Enterprise was asked to come here on a rescue mission by chance.”

“Are you saying it was a trap? To lure us here with that thing?”

“That would be the logical conclusion.”

“Well... damn! But how would they have known we had it? Even if they knew the Fabona were sending it to the Teenaxians, we were supposed to have gotten rid of it by now.”

“Yes.... However, the fact is we had not... and I logged it in the archive vault. Anyone who has access to unclassified Starfleet records could have found that it was still on board.”

The two exchanged glances, Spock’s clear and calculating, McCoy’s horrified.

“So you’re saying those bastards who attacked us... have access to our records?”

“Or had bribed or blackmailed someone who does.”

“Dammit!”

For once, Spock was inclined to agree with McCoy’s sentiment.

“We need to warn the others... _if_ there’s anyone else still left,” McCoy finally said, almost to himself.

“Leonard, it is highly unlikely that they captured our crew only to murder them. With their superior technology, it would have been easy to simply shoot down each escape pod. The fact that they captured them instead would indicate that they have some purpose for them — perhaps forced labor of some sort — but for the moment, I believe it is safe to assume that most of them are still alive.”

“Small mercies,” McCoy replied in a whisper. “There’s no telling what horrors they’re going through.”

“Which is why we must try to locate any survivors not captured by the enemy and attempt to rescue those who are.”

McCoy met Spock’s gaze with weary resignation. “In the morning, though. We can’t go around stumbling in the dark with no map or any idea of where we’re going. At least we have some shelter here... such as it is.”

Spock watched with mild curiosity as McCoy lay down beside him.

“C’m’ere. Use me as a mattress,” the doctor told him while gingerly slipping one arm under his head. “I know I’m no bed of roses, but we’ve got to keep your core temperature up. And right now this is the best I can do.”

Having grown stiff already from lying on the cold floor, Spock knew the doctor’s suggestion was logical. He struggled to turn onto his uninjured side, and from there McCoy helped him to lie face-down on his Human chest. The warmth of McCoy’s body was a welcome respite.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“As snug as a bug in a rug,” McCoy deadpanned.

Spock found himself smiling in spite of their circumstances. He knew the floor could hardly be called “comfortable,” having lain there himself, but his companion’s sarcastic bravado was a welcome reminder that not all had been lost. When McCoy placed both hands on Spock’s chilled back, trying to warm him, some of his emotions seeped through the fabric of Spock’s uniform: _PROTECT-PROTECT-WORRY-PROTECT-PROTECT-FRAGILE-PROTECT-PROTECT-PRECIOUS_. Although it did not surprise Spock that the doctor, contrary to his words and demeanor, was devoted to every single one of his crewmates, the sheer _passion_ behind his feelings came as a shock. There was a heat there that far outstripped the physical warmth McCoy was offering him, a depth and breadth and strength of care that Spock had rarely experienced before.

Nyota’s feelings for him were communicated in lightning-bright flashes of intense concern and adoration, tempestuous and beautiful, or languid, sultry satisfaction and glowing appreciation on the rare occasions when they made love.

Jim’s was a shimmering shower of white-hot sparks, like iron striking iron on a blazing forge. Overwhelming at times in its brilliance, yet always with a challenge that dared Spock to do better, to challenge Jim in return.

But McCoy’s emotion was an altogether different entity. It felt as vast as the fathomless reaches of space, as unending as the perpetual nuclear reaction of a star, as bright and powerful and impossible to stare at as a red supergiant. And yet there was _healing_ in it, a palpable sense of making right what had gone wrong, of willing open wounds to knit together and infusing life and health into failing tissue.

It took Spock’s breath away.

He lay there, struggling to maintain control over his own emotions — which were fighting for dominance in his weakened state — and tried to absorb the full impact of it.

 _“Humans often mention ‘healing hands’ in their vernacular,”_ he considered with renewed respect. _“Perhaps there is more to it than the metaphorical sense....”_

As McCoy’s breathing slowed and he drifted into sleep, the strength of his feelings grew somewhat muted and easier to bear. Now Spock could notice something else of interest: McCoy’s heartbeat. Like Nyota’s, it was far slower than a Vulcan’s. Also like Nyota’s, it reminded Spock of his mother. It had been a long time since he was a child young enough to permit her to hold him close; since her death, he had come to regret not accepting her shows of affection more. The slow, steady beat had always had a calming effect on him. He drew in a deep breath, then let it out as he counted the beats. He realized he was warm now and as comfortable as could be expected with such a serious injury. Even his logical mind could experience gratitude for the doctor’s excellent care. His emotions, rising dangerously close to the surface, were suffused with it.

 _“Goodnight, Doctor,”_ Spock thought as he closed his eyes. _“I would most likely not be alive now if not for your expertise. If we get out of this..._ when _we get out of this, I must find a way to thank you sufficiently.”_


	2. Respect and Gratitude

Once the threat to Yorktown had been neutralized and Jim rescued, McCoy still had to figure out how to land the alien craft.

“Y’know what, find me another pool and I’ll splash down,” he finally decided. “We may drown if we can’t get to the surface, but at least we won’t damage anything else or kill innocent civilians in the process.”

“The closest available reservoir is 1.5 kilometers away at approximately 9 o’clock,” Spock told him, calling up the schematic map on McCoy’s viewscreen. He refrained from informing the doctor that when he had grabbed Jim to pull him into the craft, he had torn his injury again. He could feel the blood seeping through his uniform but he knew there was nothing to be done for it at the moment.

“All right, here we go.... Hang on!”

The impact with the water was not as rough as expected — McCoy managed to decelerate and approach it at a low altitude, keeping the nose slightly elevated to allow them to glide for a while. He eased the craft into a turn that brought them to the walkway along the pool just before the nose dipped under.

“Great job, Bones!” Jim said with an exhilarated laugh. “Let’s get outta here.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” McCoy said as he opened the hatch. All three of them exited the craft and swam the short distance to shore. Spock, however, could not lift himself out of the water. McCoy, coming up beside him, noticed his distress.

“Jim! We gotta help him,” he called, quickly putting an arm round the Vulcan to help keep him afloat.

“I fear I may have reopened my injury,” Spock told him at last.

“Dammit, Spock! You might’ve said something sooner!”

With Jim pulling and the doctor pushing, they got Spock up onto the pavement where he rolled over, exhausted, to lie on his back.

“Get me a med-pack!” McCoy yelled as he hauled himself out of the water; Jim was already sprinting to the nearest service post. The doctor raised Spock’s shirt and grimaced. “Dammit, you’re bleeding again. At least now I’ll have some decent tools to patch you up with.”

“I am certain... I could not be in better hands, Doctor,” Spock said, trying without success to regulate his breathing. He did not flinch when one of those hands touched the side of his face, conveying what McCoy could not express in words: _HEAL-HEAL-FIX-HEAL-HEAL-HELP_. Over the course of their ordeal, Spock had grown accustomed to the doctor’s intense emotions, which seemed to flow into his own consciousness more freely the more time they spent in close proximity. Now he did not even need to be in direct physical contact to know what the Human was feeling — it was as though an empathic link had been forged between them, although Spock assumed he had merely learned to anticipate McCoy’s responses. He closed his eyes and rested in the confidence that the doctor could and would heal him in the best manner possible.

“Here,” Jim panted out while thrusting the med-pack to McCoy, who immediately grabbed the regenerator. Several Starfleet officers came running up, having transported to their location, and offered their assistance.

“Just give me a minute to stanch the bleeding,” McCoy told them. “Once he’s stabilized, we need to get him to the closest hospital.”

“Can you get a hover-bed?” Jim asked, sending a lieutenant dashing back to the transporter. By the time it materialized and she brought it over, Spock was feeling no pain from his injury.

“I believe I can walk now if you will assist me to stand up,” he began but was quickly cut off.

“Like hell you will! I’m ordering you to complete bed rest for 24 hours and restricted duty for a week!” McCoy growled.

“Doctor, that seems excessive—”

“Spock, listen to him,” Jim interrupted. “It’s not like we’ve got a ship to get back to right away, so just... take it easy for a while, all right?”

Spock nodded, realizing he was outranked and outnumbered. “Understood.”

Two of the larger officers carefully picked him up and set him on the lowered hover-bed under the doctor’s watchful eye, then escorted them to the nearest hospital. Since Jim was hailed by Commodore Paris and requested to meet her for a debriefing, he left Spock in McCoy’s care and hurried off in the other direction.

“It’s been a hell of a ride,” McCoy muttered as he walked alongside the hover-bed, “but at least we made it out alive... and more or less in one piece.”

“Agreed,” Spock said. He reached out to grab McCoy’s hand, which flooded him with _RELIEF-RELIEF-GLAD-RELIEF-RELIEF-SAFE_. “Thank you, Doctor... for keeping me in ‘one piece.’”

“Just doing my job,” McCoy responded gruffly before pulling out the medical tricorder with his free hand. “Although the next time you decide to get impaled on a hostile planet, wander around with no emergency supplies, then take a joyride in an alien death-trap, I’d appreciate it if you dragged someone _else_ along with you.”

Spock smiled. All of McCoy’s words were a deflection of his embarrassment, he now knew — especially when he could feel the Human’s powerful emotions directly through his skin: _SAFE-SAFE-ALIVE-ALIVE-GLAD-GLAD-HAPPY-WORRY_.

“Spock, are you feeling all right?” the doctor asked. “I don’t mean to insult an injured man, but you just looked like you were _smiling_.”

Spock laughed, sending more shockwaves of concern through McCoy. “I am fine, Leonard. You could say I am almost feeling... halfway Human.”

“Dear God, we need to get your blood count up!” McCoy exclaimed, pulling his hand away to work the tricorder. “Tell the hospital to have a liter of universal plasma ready in a rapid infuser and a hypospray with anti-microbial solution. He’s also going to need an infusion of nutrients high in amino acids, then I’ll need a dermal regenerator....”

Spock closed his eyes and decided to let the good doctor do all of the worrying for both of them.

 

* * *

 

“How are you feeling?”

Nyota’s gentle touches were filled with concern and tenderness. Spock clasped her hand in his and smiled.

“I am feeling fine... and well rested. How are _you_ feeling?”

The pause before she spoke communicated volumes through their skin. “I’m all right.”

“I sense that this has been a traumatic experience for you.” Spock stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “I am sorry you had to witness the deaths of so many crew members. Have you seen the ship’s counselor yet?”

“He’s... He was killed in the initial attack,” she told him. “They’ve assigned several counselors from Yorktown to the crew, though. I’ll be seeing someone this afternoon... a Dr. Hathaway.”

The door opened and McCoy, white-clad in the official hospital uniform, walked in.

“Ah! There’s the best medicine I can’t prescribe. How are you doing, Lieutenant?”

“Fine, and you?”

“Better than expected after drinking unfiltered water on that godforsaken planet. I’m putting in a request to Starfleet to incorporate a panel of microbial filtration fabric on every uniform, just for such a contingency. _And_ that they equip every pair of boots with a hypospray and some basic medication. That’s the last time I want to be caught so unprepared!”

Uhura chuckled at the doctor’s usual ire and moved to the head of the bed so he could read the monitor.

“Thank you for keeping Spock safe,” she said with heartfelt sincerity after catching his eye. “If you hadn’t been with him... I don’t even want to think about what might have happened.”

“Well, it didn’t,” he reminded her, “so you needn’t worry your pretty head over it. And since he’s fit as a fiddle now, I’m going to release him into your care. I’m counting on you to make sure he doesn’t overexert himself.”

“Yes, Doctor,” she happily replied.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Spock said, sitting up slowly. “It is my belief that no other chief medical officer could have sustained my health, under those difficult circumstances, as admirably as you did. Also, should you ever wish to consider a change in your career, I believe you would make an excellent helmsman.”

McCoy snorted. “Just don’t volunteer me to pilot any more alien spacecraft on suicide missions, all right? Now get out of here!”

He turned to leave, then stopped and looked back at them.

“Oh, I almost forgot — tomorrow is Jim’s birthday. Can you both make it to the party? I sent everyone a message with the details about an hour ago.”

“Oh! Yes, I saw it. I’ll be there,” Uhura answered.

“I must write my report,” Spock said hesitantly. “But perhaps I will stop by to wish the captain well.”

“No more than one hour of work at a time, Spock!” McCoy said. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Of course. I will comply.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

 

* * *

 

When Uhura left his quarters for her appointment with the counselor, Spock looked up the Yorktown directory for jewelers. After reviewing pictures of the wares sold at several of them, he decided to visit three. At the second one he found what he considered the perfect choice, but he went to the third just to be sure. Having found nothing there that surpassed his earlier selection, he returned to make the purchase, then asked the computer for McCoy’s current location. Informed that the doctor was at the venue where Jim’s party was planned for the next day, Spock moved at a brisk pace to catch him there.

“...and let’s have some of these esca-rolls too,” McCoy was telling an attendant. “I think we could use as many fresh vitamins as we can get.”

“Doctor,” Spock called to announce his presence.

“Spock! What’re you doing here?”

“Looking for you. But please, I did not intend to interrupt your preparations.”

“Well, I think this will about do it. You see anything else on this menu you want?”

Spock quickly scanned the PADD, noting the prices on the items already highlighted. “There seem to be enough alcoholic beverages to inebriate the entire crew. I was under the impression that only senior staff were invited?”

“Yeah, but don’t forget how much Jim and Scotty can put away on their own, let alone Chekov! More to the point, do you think we have enough food?”

Spock reviewed the hors d’oeuvres selections. “May I suggest a platter of brown rice and cucumber rolls? The complex carbohydrate should help offset the effects of alcohol.”

“Good idea. And let’s add a platter of pasta-wrapped meatballs. They’re actually made from soybeans,” he added to Spock. “This place is completely vegan. But don’t tell Jim — what he doesn’t know won’t hurt his triglycerides.”

“My lips are sealed,” Spock replied with some amusement.

“Okay, that should do it,” McCoy told the attendant, authorizing payment from his account on the PADD. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Leonard,” Spock said in an undertone as they turned to walk out of the establishment, “by my calculations, the total cost of this party will be—”

“ _Not_ an object,” McCoy finished. “This is a... special one for Jim. Plus I was just offered a temporary position at the teaching hospital here. Technically I’m going to be ‘on loan’ from Starfleet, so I’ll be getting a handsome stipend in addition to my Starfleet salary. Although I’m touched by your concern, there’s no need to worry — I won’t be reduced to doing backyard surgeries to make ends meet.”

“I’m pleased to hear that your talents will be put to good use while the Enterprise is being built.”

“Thanks. But what did you want to see me for, anyway? I thought you’d be... you know, spending time with your girlfriend.”

“The Lieutenant is currently at an appointment with her trauma counselor. I suspect, even from what little she has told me of her experience on Altamid, that her recovery process will be a long and possibly arduous one.”

“Well, that’s understandable. If you want to know how you can help her along, there are a couple of courses I can recommend.”

“You misunderstand me, Doctor,” Spock said, coming to a halt in the middle of the walkway. McCoy followed suit and faced him. “I came to see you regarding another matter entirely.”

“Oh?”

“While I realize that sometimes your remarks are meant to be hyperbolic or spurious, I did not wish you to truly think I am ungrateful of your actions. And I hoped to find a tangible way to express my respect and gratitude.” Spock brought out a small box that he had been holding behind his back. “I can assure you, it is not radioactive in any way.”

McCoy stared, dumbfounded, at the box Spock held out to him.

“Please, Leonard. It is only a small token.”

After looking back and forth between Spock’s face and the box a few times, McCoy finally reached up to open it. There was a simple charm pendant inside.

“You’re giving me _jewelry?”_

“It is a plain piece, but I chose it for two reasons: its flatness, which would allow you to wear it under your uniform if you so choose, and its color.” Spock met McCoy’s astounded gaze with an uplifted eyebrow. “You _did_ ask me what my favorite color is.”

“I did?” McCoy asked. “Oh! Yeah, I guess I did.”

“While you may not have been interested in the answer itself, I hope you might find it... interesting. This pale blue is... _was_... the color of the Vulcan sky in the early morning. My mother used to say it was bright with the promise of a new day — of new beginnings. And since I am fortunate enough to have more mornings to enjoy, I thought it would be appropriate for my gift to you, to whom I owe my very life.”

“Spock, I... I don’t know what to say...” McCoy stammered.

“I do believe that is a first,” Spock returned blithely. “Will you do me the honor of accepting it?”

“Of course! I... Well, I... um....” He cleared his throat and started afresh. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

When McCoy gingerly took the piece by the chain and held it up, Spock noticed that the renowned surgeon’s hand was trembling.

“Leonard... if you will allow me....”

“Huh? Oh....”

Spock took the pendant and walked around McCoy to clasp it behind his neck. The pale blue disc fell just above his shirt and below the freckle at the bottom of his throat.

“Thanks. It’s... beautiful. You didn’t have to, you know.”

Spock allowed a faint smile to curve his lips. “I am aware. But I _wanted_ to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just found this love artwork on tumblr: http://freda0326.tumblr.com/post/148241617303/the-way-bones-looked-at-uhuras-necklace-is-pure


	3. Flashbacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Squick alert! Spock/Uhura (but not explicit)

“Nyota, there is something I must tell you,” Spock said, pulling back to extricate himself from her arms. Uhura had dragged him into her quarters while kissing him when he arrived exactly one hour after the party. He had dutifully worked on his report for the maximum time allowed by his attending physician before permitting himself to enjoy the benefits of their unplanned shore leave.

“What is it?” she demanded breathlessly, her hands still holding his head and throbbing _LUST-LUST-WANT-WANT-LUST-LUST-NOW_ into his mind. He grabbed her wrists to remove them so he could think more clearly.

“The pendant... has a mild radioactive signature,” he managed. “While the radiation is not strong enough to be harmful to you in any way, it is still identifiable because of its unique properties.”

“Oh? And why are you telling me this now?” she asked, confused but unconcerned.

“Dr. McCoy put it in terms of a ‘tracking device’ and indicated that... perhaps it might be distasteful for you to realize that it could function as such.”

“I don’t care, Spock,” she declared, grabbing his Vulcan tunic by the sleeves. “All I care about right now is that _you_ are functioning at peak efficiency.”

“I believe I am,” he began, thinking to add some acknowledgement of the doctor’s expert care, but Uhura had started kissing him again and rendered verbal speech impossible.

 

* * *

 

One of the benefits of dating a Vulcan, Uhura insisted, was that it took him a very long time to climax, even though this meant that they had to plan their nights together carefully and try to get the same days off-duty. Tonight it had taken an especially long time, during which she had experienced no fewer than five orgasms. She now lay sleeping, exhausted but thoroughly sated. Spock held her naked body close, both his hands pressed to her skin, but could feel only a faint sense of satisfaction. This was to be expected — it was usual for him to lose almost all empathic communication with her when she slept — so it did not trouble him; however, it raised a point of interest, since he had been able to sense McCoy’s emotions even while he had been asleep, not to mention through the barrier of his uniform. It was a matter of scientific interest for Spock.

He would at times catch brief flashes of emotion from Uhura when she was dreaming, but nothing more. He wondered if McCoy had not been asleep, then dismissed that notion since he distinctly remembered hearing the doctor snore. _“So then, do different Humans feel emotions with different degrees of intensity?”_ This seemed to be the most logical answer. The raw power of McCoy’s emotions while he was awake had surprised Spock, so it seemed reasonable to assume that the same level of intensity was carried over into his sleep. _“If he is genetically predisposed to feel with such intensity at all times, it must be difficult to act rationally at all.”_

And yet Spock knew from experience that the doctor was quite capable of dealing with medical emergencies in a calm, rational manner. Despite his brusque attitude and harsh words, his treatments were always appropriate and professional. Most patients and nurses were willing to bear his crusty bedside manner precisely because he was so skilled in the art of medicine.

 _“Which means he has had to overcome a greater handicap than most to become so adept,”_ Spock surmised. _“A significant accomplishment indeed.”_

In light of this conclusion, Spock was doubly glad that he had decided to present the doctor with his gift. The fleeting contact he had had with McCoy when affixing the pendant to his neck had flooded him with _SURPRISED-AMAZED-CONFUSED-EMBARRASSED-GLAD-HAPPY-AMAZED-EMBARRASSED_. While it had not been his intent to embarrass him, Spock hoped that, after the initial moment, gladness would be the strongest emotion.

 _“Dr. McCoy often treats patients during combat or other emergency situations,”_ he mused. _“Perhaps because of that, or because he is perceived to be merely fulfilling his duties, he is not thanked much... although his own reception of such gestures may inhibit others from expressing their gratitude.”_

The thought made Spock smile. He had found himself irrepressibly amused — when exhausted and in pain, causing his emotions to get the better of him — by the doctor’s comment about throwing a celebratory party at the news of Spock leaving Starfleet, since it had been diametrically opposed to McCoy’s feelings of _WORRY-WORRY-DISLIKE-DISLIKE-SAD-SAD-DISTRACT_ that had been conveyed very clearly across the short space between them. Combined with his earlier feelings of _PROTECT-PROTECT-WORRY-PROTECT-PROTECT-PRECIOUS_ , Spock knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that McCoy’s preceding remark of “I don’t know what he’d do without you” was in fact a reflection of his own response, not Jim’s alone.

Spock wondered how many of the other Humans realized that McCoy’s gruff words were deceiving, or at least a disguise of his deeply-felt emotions, and to what extent. _“Many are quite intuitive,”_ he thought, looking over at Uhura where she lay sleeping, _“and being controlled by emotions themselves, perhaps they understand the need to deflect scrutiny from their true feelings. But without the benefit of empathic communication, not all can possibly comprehend the depths of Leonard’s compassion... as well as the lengths to which he goes in his attempts to hide it.”_

Uhura stirred and Spock felt a slight surge of contentment emanate from her as she settled into a more comfortable position.

 _“Jim must understand the complexities of Leonard’s discordant verbal communication better than anyone else, having been his friend for so long,”_ he continued to ponder. _“As do perhaps the nurses who have worked alongside him. I believe Mr. Sulu has smiled at his comments on multiple occasions, and even Nyota seemed amused by his recommendations for improving the uniforms rather than appreciative. It is possible that I am one of the few who had not realized his surly attitude is more... bombastic than substantial.”_

And yet Spock also knew McCoy could be brutally honest when voicing his opinions. In their very first private conversation, Spock had welcomed his candid comments and McCoy had made a passionate (if not particularly logical) case for not marooning Jim, which had later been proven out. His objection to Spock’s coldblooded handling of the situation had also taught the Vulcan — in hindsight — much about Human emotional responses. And during the incident with Khan, while the doctor’s emotional outburst against Spock’s logic had initially seemed irresponsible, his gut instinct that Khan could not be trusted had also been proven correct.

_“Both Leonard and Jim seem capable of making intuitive judgments which are surprisingly accurate despite the limited amount of information. While it would be illogical to rely on such unfounded methods on a regular basis, in crisis situations their decision-making processes have served them well. Perhaps their intuition is based on subtle empathic or even telepathic impressions — they must be gathering data, possibly without being aware of it themselves, through non-verbal communication also.”_

Spock had been impressed with how quickly McCoy had figured out how to fly the alien craft, especially considering that the last time the doctor had piloted anything must have been years ago at the Academy. Remembering his indignation at being taken on a “joyride” in the “alien death-trap” made Spock chuckle, which in turn roused Uhura, who opened her eyes with something like suspicion growing in her mind.

“Did you just laugh?” she asked.

“I’m sorry — I did not mean to wake you.”

“Can’t you sleep?”

“I was... thinking.”

“About what?”

Spock paused to stroke her back with one hand. “About... Dr. McCoy. Something droll he had said.”

Uhura sat up with waves of displeasure emanating from her. Spock did not need to be touching her to sense it.

“Why are you upset?”

She stood and pulled on her Vulcan sleeping robe — Spock’s gift for her last birthday — before answering.

“We finally get to spend the night together after... how many weeks apart? And you’re thinking about _Dr. McCoy?”_

Spock tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach that occurred any time he offended Uhura without understanding exactly why.

“He has been on my mind much lately, which should come as no surprise after the time we spent together.”

“I get it — I do, really — the two of you went through some... awful times together,” Uhura said, then sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “But I thought _you_ were the one with the mental discipline here. Why would you bring that up _now?_ When we’re _together?”_

“I... I was not dredging up the trauma of our experience, Nyota... simply recalling an amusing comment Leonard had made about it. He was being... overly dramatic, as usual. I had thought you found his hyperbole to be humorous as well?”

“Oh, sure, but... is that more ‘fascinating’ than _us_? Can’t we even have _one night_ where it’s not about our work and our mission and everything else?”

Spock considered this for a moment before answering, “Since we are both involved in the same work with the same mission, I believe any reference to it is, by definition, part of ‘us.’”

Uhura made an exasperated sound. “Spock, we’re supposed to be having a romantic night together! How would you feel if I started talking about other crew members? Like how Sulu almost died but Ensign Syl saved him, only to be killed herself? Or how Krall sucked the life out of the others and started _looking_ like them?”

“Nyota,” he responded, placing his hands on her shoulders in what he had learned was a soothing gesture, “I am sorry if my reflections seem to be a distraction from our time together. I _had_ allowed my attention to wander, but only because you were asleep. However, if you would like to discuss your experiences with me, I would consider it an honor. I only wish to help you find serenity and happiness, _T’hy’la_.”

The sadness, confusion, distress, and regret she projected was almost overwhelming. Spock embraced her as she began to cry.

“I’m so sorry... it’s not fair to you,” she sobbed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “I just... I can’t even explain it....”

“Shhh,” Spock whispered. “It’s all right. You’ve been through a terrible experience; you must allow yourself more time to heal. And I am glad that you feel safe enough with me to share this.”

While he continued to calm her as best he could, Spock remembered that McCoy had mentioned courses he could recommend for exactly this purpose. He made a mental note to ask the doctor about them at the next opportunity.


	4. Complexity

Over the next few days, Spock grew increasingly restless as he was forced by Dr. McCoy’s orders to work only one hour out of every two. He filled his downtime with meditation and relaxation, but there were many things to be done to prepare for the construction of the new Enterprise and he was — not frustrated, of course — desirous of getting back to his regular duties. Uhura was seeing the counselor more often and for longer blocks of time as well, so he found himself at loose ends during his non-working hours, although he was sincerely glad that she was seeking help to recover from her trauma.

Every time he asked the computer where McCoy was and what he was doing, the answer came back that he was at the hospital teaching or performing an operation. The realization that the doctor, who had gone through a rather trying ordeal himself, was already back to a full schedule did rankle Spock a bit if he were being honest with himself. He could have simply requested an appointment; however, since McCoy’s orders had been explicit, he felt there was little chance of the irascible physician changing his mind.

One day after he had finished his last hour of duty permitted, Spock asked the computer again (almost by habit) what McCoy was doing.

“Dr. McCoy is at the 8th District Hospital. He will be performing a demonstration surgery of how to manually remove necrotic cysts from a patient with Oyenusi Syndrome, starting in approximately 6 minutes.”

Curious about the disease, Spock looked it up and skimmed the brief, but his thoughts were more on the fact that this was a teaching surgery — and that the hospital would probably allow him, as a Science Officer with Starfleet, to watch from the gallery. He double-checked with the computer and received confirmation in the affirmative, so he swiftly made his way to the hospital, where a receptionist gave him directions to the gallery. He was surprised at how few seats were still empty but managed to find one in the back row. Another doctor had just finished describing the specifics of the patient’s condition and then introduced Dr. McCoy.

“Okay, first things first: this is going to be a barbaric procedure,” McCoy’s distinctive voice rang out over the speakers as he glanced up at the windows surrounding the operating room. “It’s one of the few surgeries we still have to do the old-fashioned way because even our newest and best equipment can’t distinguish between the healthy tissue and infected tissue. The dead tissue, of course, is easy enough to spot; the infected but still living tissue is much trickier, but it has to be completely eradicated or the disease will continue to spread. If any of you have a weak stomach, I would recommend stepping out now.”

From that point the doctor donned magnifying glasses and worked on the patient, cutting open the thoracic region and prying apart the ribs to expose the left lung. His assistant then brought over a large light that shone in the ultraviolet spectrum.

“The key here is to only have _one_ light source,” McCoy instructed. “Although you’ll have to move it around to light the tissue from every angle, if you have multiple light sources they will create shadows and you could miss some spots. So now it just becomes a game of patience — it’s tedious and monotonous, but you have to find every single speck of the infection. You have to _hate_ the disease with every fiber of your being, as if it’s hurting the people you love most, and take every damn _cell_ of it out with a vengeance!”

Spock was shocked when he felt a wave of anger hit him from the direction of the operating room. Although it seemed illogical, he knew he was feeling McCoy’s actual emotions, despite their being separated by a significant distance and soundproof windows. Spock did not think the doctor’s emotions, as powerful as they were, could be that strong; he began to suspect that over the course of their time together, he himself had become attuned to McCoy — like a radio tuned in to a specific frequency — which now allowed him to perceive the Human’s feelings with greater sensitivity.

All through the long operation, Spock could feel surges of aggravation and at times downright aggression emanating from McCoy. The doctor truly hated the disease and was determined not to leave behind a single infected cell in his patient. By the time he moved on to the right lung, many of the onlookers had grown bored and left, but Spock was fascinated by the methodical precision with which McCoy searched for and removed the affected tissue. Almost two hours later, when McCoy was finally satisfied that no spots remained, the assisting surgeon took over and closed the cavity with regenerators. Spock made his way out of the gallery to the hallway where McCoy emerged a short while later.

“Spock! What’re you doing here?”

“Since I had worked the maximum hours allowed for today, I decided to broaden my knowledge by attending your surgery. I must say your concentration was impressive.”

“Well, I don’t mind telling you I’m exhausted. That was the worst case I’ve ever seen! Shift the light a few degrees and a whole ’nuther crop of them showed up! I need a drink. More importantly, I need to change. You wanna come up to my office? It’s small but it’s got a nice view.”

“I would be... delighted.”

“Ha! You, ‘delighted’?” McCoy gibed as he led the way to a turbolift.

“I was merely using a common Human expression... but I am pleased to know they have provided you with adequate facilities.”

“Adequate! This place is a dream. All the latest equipment plus two research facilities that are developing cutting-edge devices and techniques. I couldn’t ask for better.”

They walked out onto one of the higher-level floors and McCoy navigated the maze-like corridors while describing some of the technological advances he had seen since being assigned to this post.

“A lot of this stuff hasn’t been published yet, so I wouldn’t have known about them if I weren’t working here,” he concluded as he opened the door to his office. “Make yourself at home — or better yet, make yourself useful and pour us some drinks. There’s bourbon and tumblers in the lower left desk drawer.”

While McCoy went into the bathroom and activated the shower, Spock retrieved two glasses and poured a finger of bourbon in each. He could not help but notice the two other objects on the desk: a small spherical replica of Yorktown and a holograph panel, currently turned off. He picked up the model to examine its intricate details and was surprised when white bits of what looked to be resin-polymer material swirled in the bottom. They were too undefined to be shuttlecraft and too numerous, anyway, to be an accurate representation of the crafts inside the space station. Mystified, he raised an eyebrow as he set it back down. The view of the actual station from the window was, as McCoy had claimed, aesthetically pleasing.

The doctor came out of the bathroom in street clothes with his hair still slightly damp. “Ah, there’s the stuff!” he said with a sigh and grabbed a glass. He inhaled the aroma before taking a sip. “Nectar of the gods!”

Spock did the same, and although he did not often imbibe alcoholic drinks, he found the fruity note of apricot to be pleasant.

“So how’s Lieutenant Uhura doing?” McCoy asked.

“She is... doing well, I believe. She has increased her sessions with Counselor Hathaway,” Spock answered.

“Oh, she got Hathaway? She’s a good doctor, as far as shrinks go. I’ve heard she tends to take more time than most, but that’s a good thing sometimes.” McCoy pulled open a different drawer and grabbed a PADD. “I’m guessing you stopped by for those courses I promised.”

“That was one of my reasons, yes.”

“I put them all in here — I meant to give this to you yesterday but got stuck in emergency surgeries the whole afternoon. Mudzuri and Kwang’s is the best, in my opinion, since they cover all the bases and have them systematically organized. Sidorova has some good points too; she treats a lot of trauma cases by applying grief counseling techniques, which makes sense when the patient has suffered losses — whether it’s the loss of physical abilities or the loss of... crewmates. And Dollinger has done extensive research on survivor guilt, so his insights should be helpful.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Spock said as he accepted the PADD. “I appreciate your looking into this.”

“Ah, don’t mention it!” McCoy brushed it off verbally but Spock could sense his pleasure and satisfaction. “Here, if you don’t need to rush off to see your girlfriend, pull up a seat and stay a while — and bring me up to speed on the Enterprise A.”

Spock sat on the couch, noting that it was a daybed, while McCoy took the facing armchair and put his feet up on the coffee table. As Spock described the progress being made on the new ship, the doctor poured himself three more fingers, which steadily disappeared.

“You should have received the schematics for sickbay by now,” Spock added. “If you have any design changes or input, it would be best to submit them before the bulkheads are put in.”

“From what I saw it looked like a better design than our last Enterprise, so I have no complaints. The only changes I’m requesting are for the biobeds — there are more ergonomic ones available, although they _are_ more expensive. We’ll just have to wait and see if they’re approved.”

McCoy was explaining about the new tricorders being tested at a facility on Earth when Spock was hailed.

“Excuse me,” he said politely before opening his communicator. “Spock here.”

“Where _are_ you?” Uhura asked, audibly upset. “You’ve been gone for _hours_.”

“I am at the 8th District Hospital with Dr. McCoy. Is anything wrong?”

“Oh! No, nothing’s wrong, except I didn’t know where you were... and I don’t have the security clearance to search your location unless a Red Alert has been issued.”

“I am sorry, Nyota — I had not meant to cause you concern. I should be returning shortly.”

“All right. Just... let me know if you’re going to be gone for so long, okay? I know it’s silly to worry, but I do.”

“Understood.” Spock turned off his communicator to find McCoy smirking at him.

“You’d better run along, then,” the doctor teased. “You wouldn’t want to make her worry.”

“No...” Spock replied, but he was feeling an undercurrent of sadness from McCoy that he could not understand. “I suppose that would be... unwise.”

“I’ll walk out with you,” McCoy said as he stood up and set his glass on the desk. “I should heed my own advice and not drink on an empty stomach.”

Spock put his glass next to the other and paused when he saw the Yorktown model.

“Doctor, what do the white movable pieces in this signify?”

“What?” McCoy asked in return, then saw what Spock had indicated. “It’s snow, Spock — that’s a snow globe. Y’know, those kitschy things they sell to tourists?” Noting Spock’s blank look, McCoy picked up the globe and gave it a good shake and a twist, causing the snow bits to swirl around as in a miniature blizzard. “When we first approached the Yorktown, I called it a ‘snow globe in space, just waiting to be broken.’ So what does Jim do as soon as we get back from the Altamid catastrophe? Buy me a snow globe of Yorktown, ‘just to remind me of the fragility of life,’ he said. As if I didn’t have enough things to worry about!”

Spock watched the snow settle with some confusion. “It does seem to be a rather... macabre memento.”

“Well, Jim’s always hassling me about facing my fears... and getting back up on the horse that threw me.” McCoy put the globe back on its stand, sending off a jumble of irritation, anger, and pain that confused Spock even further. “That’s all fine and well for _him_. But for some of us... it’s just not that simple.”

Before Spock could ask him to elaborate, McCoy was walking out the door of his office.

“C’mon, Spock — no sense getting you in hot water with Uhura.”

Spock followed him but became alarmed at the intensity of sadness he felt when he drew closer to the Human. When they entered the turbolift, Spock was able to distinguish loneliness and despair in the morass of emotions McCoy was exuding. It was almost more than the Vulcan could bear.

“Leonard, you mentioned getting something to eat. Will Jim be joining you?”

“Oh, no — he’s been dating an engineer from one of the hydroponics labs here. I think he’s taking this birthday rather hard... he’s talking about settling down and stuff, which is just crazy talk coming from him.”

“I was not aware of that,” Spock said, then began anew, “I was wondering, if you have no other plans, if you would care to join Nyota and me for dinner.”

“Spock!” McCoy exclaimed, horrified. “Are you _mad?_ Dammit, is there something toxic in the water here? First Jim, now you....”

“I do not understand what could be so... problematic,” Spock asked, trying to concentrate on his thoughts rather than the feelings bombarding him, “about inviting a friend and valued coworker for a meal.”

“My God, man! Just when I think there might be hope for you....” McCoy trailed off, dramatically slapping his forehead. “Look, Uhura just called you, upset because she didn’t know where you’d been for a couple of hours. Isn’t it obvious that she wants — maybe even _needs_ — to spend time with you? _Alone?_ Not with someone else barging in on your private time.”

Spock had to admit the doctor’s logic was sound. “That is a... possibility... although I do not believe she was upset to such a degree.”

McCoy sighed as the turbolift reached the ground floor. Since there were people waiting to get on, he held his tongue until they were out and heading to the nearest transporter station. “Listen, Spock, I may be the least qualified person to give you relationship advice, but the one thing I can tell you is that women — Earth women, anyway — are _subtle_ in their cues. You need to figure out how to read them, although I can’t for the life of me tell you how. But if she’s called to check up on you when you haven’t been gone for more than a few hours, believe me, the last thing she wants is for you to bring someone home with you. And although I appreciate your offer, the last thing _I_ want to be is a third wheel.”

“A... ‘third wheel’?” Spock echoed, indicating his lack of familiarity with the term.

“Yeah, you know, the pathetic single friend tagging along with a couple, trying to make small talk while the two lovebirds are having entire conversations with just their eyes.” McCoy stopped at last, having reached the transporter station, and turned to face Spock. “I don’t care how hungry I am or how good the food is, if she starts whispering sweet nothings into your pointy-ass ears, I’m gonna _hurl_. And by ‘hurl’ I mean _vomit_.”

Spock was left openmouthed, not so much by the bluntness of McCoy’s words but by the sheer force and complexity of the feelings battering him: _SAD-LONELY-IRRITATED-ANGRY-JEALOUS-SAD-PAIN-HURT-AVOID-ALONE-SAD-ENVY-RAGE-LONELY-HOPELESS-SAD_.

“I... I am sorry,” Spock managed, “I did not realize... it would be so... distasteful.”

McCoy took a deep breath and suddenly the assault of emotions lessened. “Don’t apologize, Spock — _I’m_ sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I know you only meant to be nice, but it’s just... not gonna work out. Especially when your girlfriend’s still recovering from a traumatic experience.” He tapped the PADD in Spock’s hands with one finger. “Work through some of those courses — they’ll help you more than I ever could.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” McCoy mumbled before leaving Spock standing there, still stunned from the impact of what he had felt.


	5. Green-Eyed Monster

Spock internally acknowledged the wisdom of McCoy’s statements when he entered Uhura’s quarters and found her cooking an elaborate meal. Though they usually went out to one of the many restaurants available in Yorktown — since their choices were limited while on board the Enterprise — it seemed Uhura had developed a sudden craving for chapatis and sukuma wiki.

“It smells delicious in here,” he said as he set the PADD on the edge of the counter and bent to kiss her forehead. “How can I help?”

“The chapatis are almost ready to be flipped,” she answered with a warm smile. “I found a shop here that sells piri piri, so I just _had_ to have some!”

Spock washed his hands and watched in alarm as she put a generous amount of the ground hot peppers into a pot of rice. Picante spices did not always agree with him. However, he refrained from commenting and flipped the chapatis as requested.

“So... how was Dr. McCoy?”

Though her tone was nonchalant, Spock knew her well enough by now to realize it was a studied indifference. He was startled to discover that she was actually, to some degree, _jealous_ of his spending time with the doctor.

“He is fine... and keeping quite busy,” Spock carefully replied. “I saw that he was performing a teaching surgery and thought it would be interesting to observe. I had not realized it would take two full hours.”

“Oh, that _is_ a long time! Was it a complicated surgery?”

“More tedious than complicated. I was impressed with the doctor’s ability to concentrate for the entire duration. When he was finished, he invited me to his new office, where we discussed the plans for the Enterprise A.”

“Anything exciting?”

“Not particularly.” Spock paused before adding, “I had also asked the doctor for some courses in Human psychology to learn how to be more supportive of your recovery.”

Uhura fumbled with a lid, nearly dropping it, but managed to settle it on the pot of ugali. “You... you did that for me?”

“Of course.”

Spock was stifled when Uhura leapt up to kiss him with a fervor she had never displayed before. The direct contact also flooded him with her emotions — wild and chaotic, which was so uncharacteristic of her as to be shocking. Despite her effusive feelings, though, he noted with relief that all traces of jealousy had disappeared.

 

* * *

 

They did not make love that night since Uhura had to work the next day, but Spock felt that simply lying next to her and stroking her back while she slept was just as intimate as the physical act of sex. It was gratifying to know she enjoyed his company — enjoyed waking up next to him and going through their morning routines together. So much so, he reflected, that she jealously guarded her time with him.

 _“‘Beware of jealousy, the green-eyed monster, which mocks the meat upon which it feeds,’”_ he vaguely recalled. _“I would not have thought my spending time with Dr. McCoy would give her any cause for alarm... but perhaps even small things seem like greater issues since she is in a more vulnerable state right now. Her sudden mood swings and excessive displays are obvious signs that her psyche has not regained its normal balance.”_ He observed her body slowly rising and falling with her breaths and sensed the contentment that simmered in her subconscious. _“There is no reason for her to feel threatened by Leonard, after all... even if my friendship with him has deepened from going through that harrowing experience together, I am perfectly content in my relationship with her. Have I not expressed it enough lately? Perhaps because I had mentioned going to New Vulcan before, she feels I am not satisfied with our arrangement.... I must find some ways to reassure her. Now that I am committed to remaining with Starfleet, she should have no need to worry about my leaving. But perhaps jealousy is one of the side effects of prolonged trauma for Humans.”_

Spock’s hand froze for a moment as he remembered something, causing him to withdraw it from Uhura’s bare back.

 _“Leonard had feelings of jealousy and envy as well... before we parted. When I invited him, he was adamant about not wanting to be a ‘third wheel’ and felt... sad, lonely, and upset. Is he also experiencing the after-effects of trauma? He has been back on full duty from the day after our return, but he could be burying himself in work to avoid dealing with his emotional issues. With as deeply as he feels_ any _emotion, surely some counseling would have been in order... but of course, since he is the ship’s chief medical officer, if he chooses not to, nobody would have the authority to force him. Except the captain.... Perhaps I should speak to Jim about it; he would not want his friend to struggle alone.”_

However, Spock knew that going above someone’s head to talk to a higher-ranking officer was, while logical, often counterproductive to helping said person. He was still haunted by the way Jim had looked at him when he’d found out about Spock’s report to Admiral Pike. In hindsight Spock had realized that it was tantamount to a betrayal of trust — a most ungrateful way to repay the man who had risked his career to save Spock’s life.

_“No, I should not speak to Jim before confronting Leonard first. Despite his attempts at duplicity, Leonard has always been honest about matters of importance. And if he truly needs help, perhaps I will be able to encourage him to seek it. Only if that fails should I go to Jim for assistance.”_

Thus resolved on how to handle the issue, Spock willed himself to sleep.

 

* * *

 

“Nyota, I may not be available this evening,” Spock remarked over breakfast. “Depending on Dr. McCoy’s schedule, I hope to discuss some matters with him tonight.”

“Oh!” Uhura responded. “Is it... work-related?”

Spock mentally winced as he felt a wave of searing jealousy from her. He had not meant to awaken that beast again.

“Yes, of course,” he answered. “It is a... personnel issue. It has come to my attention that one of the crew is refusing to see the counselor.”

“I see.” She took a bite of her warmed-over ugali. “But if it’s work-related, can’t you see him during the day?”

“His working hours are filled with surgeries and lectures at the hospital, so I believe it will be more conducive to our conversation if we meet after... especially since it is unclear how much time will be required.”

“Once you inform the doctor, wouldn’t it be his responsibility to follow through?”

“Ordinarily, that would be true... but this crew member may require some... persuasion. If, however, the two of us cannot resolve the situation, I will take the matter to the captain.”

“It sounds serious.”

“It may be.” Spock set down his spoon before asking, “Nyota, would you say that your sessions with Counselor Hathaway have been helpful to you?”

“Oh, yes! I would recommend her to anybody.”

Spock nodded. “Perhaps your personal recommendation, added to all the reasons why it is advisable, will help this crew member realize that it is the logical course of action.” He reached out to place his hand over hers on the table. “I am glad that you are strong enough to seek help when you need it. I have observed that for many Humans, it is a difficult thing to do.”

There was a burst of _WORRY-WORRY-FEAR-PAIN-JEALOUSY_ before Uhura withdrew her hand, but her voice was steady and calm as she said, “Yes. It can be.”

Although concerned, Spock decided not to pursue the matter since Uhura soon busied herself to leave for duty.

 

* * *

 

The computer informed him that the doctor was in surgery yet again, so Spock sent him a message. Over an hour later, right after he had started reviewing one of McCoy’s recommended courses on Human psychology, his comm beeped.

“Spock here.”

“It’s McCoy. What’s this about dinner tonight?”

“I thought you might enjoy some company since the captain seems to be otherwise engaged. Just the two of us, of course — I would not want you to feel like an extraneous ‘third wheel.’”

There was an audible sigh. “I know you’re trying to be nice, Spock, but it makes me damn uncomfortable.”

“That was not my intent at all... but there is also something I wished to speak with you about.”

“Oh?”

“Yes... a personal matter. In fact, it may be best to meet somewhere private. I can bring our meal to your quarters or mine, whichever you prefer.”

McCoy paused before replying, “Let’s use my office. There are a couple of patients I want to keep an eye on.”

“Understood. What type of cuisine would you like?”

“Oh... surprise me. I’m not picky.”

 

* * *

 

When Spock arrived with containers of cornbread and fried chicken, McCoy was thrilled almost beyond words.

“Ahhh, comfort food! Nothing better,” he declared after taking a few bites. “And sweet tea too! Although I think it can be even better with a little nip....”

While McCoy got up to retrieve his bottle of bourbon, Spock savored the fried okra with appreciation. He usually avoided fried foods but this batter was light and crisp, leaving the okra cooked but still recognizable. The collard greens were similar to Uhura’s sukuma wiki and he also liked the texture of the mashed potatoes, though he had them plain without gravy.

“Care for a drop?” McCoy offered, holding up the bottle.

“Ah... just a little,” Spock answered, opening his tea container. He hoped the alcohol might cut the overpowering sugar of the drink.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” McCoy asked, sitting down to resume his dinner with relish.

“Perhaps we should wait until after.”

“Oh, God — I’m not gonna like this, am I?”

Spock considered it for a moment. “Not necessarily.”

“I knew it. You’re just softening me up with all this,” the doctor said, though surprisingly without ire. Even the curiosity Spock felt from him was muted, superseded by his genuine pleasure over the food. “Here, ya gotta try some of these baked beans.”

When they had both eaten as much as they could (McCoy polishing off the macaroni-and-cheese as a point of honor), they sat sipping their tea, by now heavily laced with bourbon.

“All right, so what is this big, mysterious Thing you wanted to talk about?” McCoy asked anew.

Spock chose his words carefully. “It has come to my attention that one of the crew has not been seeing a counselor, as is recommended and required by protocol.”

“Ah! You mean Jim. I know, he keeps putting it off, but the mucky-mucks keep wanting to debrief him about every little detail — so much that I hardly have the heart to nag him anymore.”

“I was... not aware of that,” Spock said, filing away this bit of information. “Actually, Doctor, the crewman I meant to bring to your attention is... yourself.”

 _“Me?”_ McCoy exclaimed, both eyebrows shooting up. “Why the hell would _I_ need to see a counselor?”

“You were in a traumatic situation for an extended period of time, as were the rest of the crew. And yet, here you are, working full-time in a new setting with little or no leave taken to mitigate the effects of the ordeal.”

The doctor snorted indelicately. “Now, Spock, I appreciate your concern — I really do — but that wasn’t a _traumatic_ experience for me... maybe _trying_ , but not _traumatic_. Sure, do I wish I hadn’t had to fly around in that death-trap? Absolutely. But traumatic would be if we hadn’t made it in time to snatch Jim from being sucked out into space or if you’d actually managed to bleed to death before I got my hands on some decent medical supplies.” He took another gulp of tea before adding, with a smirk, “You may be sad company to be marooned on an alien planet with, but you’re not _that_ bad.”

Spock could appreciate the humor of his comment since McCoy was exuding powerful waves of _CONTENT-CONTENT-HAPPY-FUNNY-GRATEFUL-TOUCHED_. He thought he was beginning to understand the crusty Human much better, so he tried to reply in kind.

“I am pleased to know that your tolerance for my company is increasing,” he said blandly. “However, how can you be certain of your own diagnosis? By definition, a self-diagnosis cannot be impartial.”

“I think I know enough about myself to realize if I’ve got a problem. And if I do, I’m in a hospital — there’s practically a counselor around every corner!”

“But would you avail yourself of one if you did not feel the need?” Spock pointed out. “My concern is that if you are deep enough in denial, you would not see the warning signs.”

McCoy leaned back and sighed noisily. “So... what? If I go see a shrink, will that make you happy? Scratch that — will that satisfy you?”

Spock inclined his head. “Yes, I believe it would. If their analysis shows that you are not suffering any after-effects from the Altamid Incident, I will not insist on your following the full regimen of counseling treatments recommended by regulations.”

“Well, that’s a relief!” Though the words were delivered with sarcasm, Spock sensed none behind them. “All right, if that’s what it takes, I’ll set up an appointment with one of them. But they’re not gonna find any evidence of _trauma_. I’m as mentally and physically fit as I’ve ever been.”

“Then I shall look forward to hearing so from your evaluating counselor.” Spock took another sip of his tea.

“Why the sudden interest?” McCoy blurted out. Spock had been sensing his increasing curiosity so it came as no surprise. “I mean, why do you care whether I see a counselor or not?”

“Leonard... you seem to have forgotten... I am a touch empath,” Spock cautiously began. “I can sense your emotions when I am in contact with you. Sometimes, if your emotions are intense, I can feel them even without any tactile support.”

A long moment passed in stunned silence while McCoy tried to decipher the implications of this statement.

“So... you’re sensing... that I need counseling? That I’ve been traumatized by what happened?”

“It would seem so.” Spock set down his tea and held his palms open toward McCoy in a conciliatory attitude. “I am sorry if I intruded upon your privacy, but please believe me, it was unintentional. I did not deliberately try to read your feelings — I had no reason to. However, once I felt your pain... that deep well of sadness you try so hard to keep hidden, I could not stand idly by while you suffered in silence.”

McCoy cursed under his breath, then astonished Spock by laughing.

“Oh, God! Spock... you have no idea.” He poured some more bourbon into his tea before taking another swig of it. “That deep pit of depression you felt? That’s not from the Altamid debacle. No, I’ve been acquainted with it for years now. We’re old friends, really.”

“Please explain,” Spock urged. “That is, if you are comfortable telling me. I assure you I will keep any information you reveal strictly confidential.”

McCoy laughed again, a hard edge to his tone. Spock was worried by the pain and sardonic bitterness he sensed from the Human, but there was something else in his emotions too: hope. It was faint and elusive, but Spock could tell that it was definitely there — and growing.

“You sure you want to go down this rabbit hole?” McCoy asked. “It’s a long, sad story with no happy ending.”

“I am sure, Leonard,” Spock told him. “I’m listening.”


	6. Down the Rabbit Hole

McCoy contemplated his drink — at this point almost pure bourbon with only faint traces of tea, by Spock’s estimate — before plunging into his story.

“I’m sure you know I was married once... divorced now, though not by choice. _That’s_ the trauma I haven’t gotten over. I’m not even sure it’s something I can... not that I blame my ex for everything, but she did pull the rug out from under me on that one. I told her right from the get-go that my residency would be a rough time, but she swore she could tough it out. Hell, she let me move in with her for my last year of med school to save on rent... so I thought she knew what she was getting into.”

He took another sip and let out a noisy sigh before continuing. Whether from the effects of the alcohol, the subject matter, or sheer exhaustion, Spock noticed that his drawl had become more pronounced.

“The problem was, even _I_ didn’t know what a spell of hell my residency was gonna be. I couldn’t have expected it — it was pure bad luck. The head of the surgery department died suddenly of an aortic dissection, so I had to take over his duties until they hired a replacement. Better pay, which Cynthia liked at first, but a _helluva_ lot more responsibility for me. I was a nervous wreck, always worried that my patients would die on me because I’d done something wrong, made some rookie mistake....”

Spock could sense the worry and nervous tension building up in McCoy just from recounting that time.

“I often went days without leaving the hospital, but I kept telling her that it was only temporary, that it would get better soon... except it _didn’t_ , because the administrators were arguing over whether they should hire from the outside or promote _me_ — without ever bothering to _ask_ me if I wanted the job or not! By the time they told me I could have the position, I didn’t want anything to do with it. I actually told the head of HR where they could shove it. But by then it was too late... Cynthia had already found somebody else — somebody who could make her his first priority — and I had to sleep in my office because I had no other place to go.”

The sadness emanating from McCoy would have made Spock weep if he had not been in full control of his emotions. As it was, he struggled to find the words to even attempt to console him.

“I am... truly sorry, Leonard,” he murmured. “I had no idea....”

“Well, that’s not even the worst of it.” McCoy stood up and lurched toward his desk, alarming Spock with how unsteady he was on his feet, but he managed to right himself by grabbing the back of the couch. He took the few steps to the desk tentatively, then brought the holograph panel back to the coffee table, where he set it down and turned it on. The image of a girl, swinging gently back and forth as though playing with her dress, appeared in mid-air.

“That’s Joanna... my little girl.”

Spock looked up at McCoy in shock. “You have... a _daughter?_ ”

“Yeah. Damnedest thing, innit?” He collapsed into his chair again. “She’s a cute kid, though... takes after her mother, thank God!”

Spock studied the image, still moving in a continuous loop, and compared it to the man sitting across from him.

“There is a definite resemblance to you as well.... Her eyes are much like yours.”

“Y’think so?” McCoy looked pleased, but there was an undercurrent of pain that marred his pleasure. “See, at first, I didn’t think she was mine. I knew Cynthia had been cheating on me, so I just assumed she was... the other guy’s kid. God knows I’d hardly been home for months.... But Cynthia had her DNA tested, and lo and behold, I was the daddy. ’Course, she doesn’t call me ‘Daddy’ — I’m ‘Papa’ to her... just some guy who shows up once in a blue moon and sends her weird stuff from all over the galaxy. I’m not really a part of her life... wasn’t even there when she was born ’cuz I’d left for Starfleet before the ink had dried on the divorce papers. My residency was over and I couldn’t wait to get away from that place....”

Spock was speechless. McCoy’s grief was as all-consuming as a black hole, sucking him into its abyss.

“So this other guy is now married to my ex, is ‘Daddy’ to my baby girl, and is living in the house I’d picked out for my family. Hell, he might even be driving my old car if it’s still working — Cynthia got that in the divorce too. I guess she was just like all the other girls who pretended to be interested in me... they heard ‘doctor’ and all they could see was dollar signs.”

McCoy took a deep breath, faced Spock, and smiled — a smile that wrenched the Vulcan’s heart for being so obviously false.

“Well, now you know my sob-story. I pull it out and dust it off every so often to buy sympathy from unsuspecting strangers, but I know that won’t work on you. So, take it as a cautionary tale; make sure you don’t let the same thing happen to you with Uhura.”

“Leonard...” Spock began, groping for the right words, “have you considered... applying for a post near Earth, where you could see your daughter more often?”

“Considered, of course... but that’d be even worse! Going over to my old house to pick her up every other weekend? Knowing I’m basically babysitting for Cynthia and her new husband? Besides, it wouldn’t be good for Joanna. As much as I hate to admit it, Frank is a good man and a good father... much better than I could ever hope to be. And I don’t want to risk... getting into it with Cynthia again. Towards the end our fights got really nasty, and Joanna doesn’t need to see that. No, she’s better off without me interfering in her life. Maybe when she gets older and can understand better, I’ll make more of an effort to see her, but... for now, being some kind of Santa Claus from outer space is the best I can do for her, I reckon.”

McCoy finished off his bourbon while Spock stared at him, overwhelmed.

“It’s gettin’ late, Spock — you should get home to your woman, and I need to check up on my patients.” The doctor sauntered unsteadily to his desk and pulled up some readouts on his monitor.

“I will... accompany you back to your quarters,” Spock said at last, standing up to dispose of their food containers in the recycling chute. “You seem somewhat intoxicated, Leonard, and I would not want you to have any... mishap.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not as thunk as you drink I am,” McCoy slurred, then laughed when Spock looked at him in alarm. “No, really — I can make it back all right. The walk will do me good. Plus you’ll want to use the site-to-site transporter.”

“Nyota is not expecting me tonight, so I can walk with you. In fact, I insist.”

“Suit yourself.”

Although McCoy’s reply sounded casual, Spock sensed a definite change in his emotions: gladness and happiness were taking over, dispelling the sadness and pain that had been dominant until now. There was some embarrassment and nervousness intermingled in his feelings as well.

 _“He must be glad of my company,”_ Spock thought, _“but he is too embarrassed — or proud — to ask for it. Or perhaps he is hesitant to keep me away from Nyota... similar to how he has avoided claiming any of his daughter’s time for himself....”_

Aloud, Spock only asked, “How are your patients doing?”

“As well as can be expected. One of them got an extra dose of pain-reliever, but that’s all right — it’ll help her sleep better tonight.”

When McCoy finished his review and they left his office, the hallway and other office areas were deserted, so Spock took the opportunity to say something he had been mulling in his mind for a while.

“Leonard, you said your daughter’s step-father is a good father... better than you could ever be... but I seriously doubt that. I believe you would be an excellent father.”

The increase in McCoy’s embarrassment was exponential, hitting Spock like a heat wave, but his pleasure was also palpable.

“You really think so? I mean, I have to watch my language every time I talk to her, and I don’t know much about pediatrics, let alone kids... I don’t want to be a bad influence on her, y’know?”

“I am sure that, given the opportunity, you would perform admirably.”

“I hope you’re right,” McCoy said as they entered the turbolift, his tone unwontedly sober. “I’m sort of hoping... maybe when she’s in her teens or something, that I might be able to spend some time with her... if she wants to, of course.”

“I’m sure she would benefit from your attention.”

As they walked out of the building into the darkened street — Yorktown’s simulated nighttime — McCoy asked, “So... any chance of you and Uhura having, y’know... little quarter-Vulcans?”

“That is highly unlikely,” Spock answered. “As you know, the only reason I survived as the first Human-Vulcan hybrid was because my Vulcan DNA had asserted itself as the more dominant in all areas; any aberration in which the Human DNA became more dominant would have meant a serious conflict in my genetic blueprint.”

“You’d have ended up with mangled organs,” the doctor agreed. “If it were just doubled organs, it wouldn’t be so bad, but if you ended up without one altogether... yeah, bad news.”

“Precisely. So the risk would be even greater with a higher ratio of Human DNA.”

“But wouldn’t the Human DNA win out? The kid would be 75% Human, after all.”

“Not necessarily. Since the Vulcan DNA is so dominant in me, we would run almost as much risk of having conflicting DNA as my own parents did. My father has told me that they had had several miscarriages where the genetic code was ‘mangled,’ as you say, to the point where those children could not survive even _in utero_. It was an especially difficult time for my mother — and not something I wish to subject Nyota to.”

McCoy sighed. “Yeah, it’s not an easy thing to go through, emotionally or physically. But that’s too bad... I think you’d make a good father too, Spock. Especially if you had a more logical, Vulcan-ish kid.”

Sensing his sincerity, Spock was surprised and gratified. “Why, thank you, Leonard. I must admit, I have not contemplated having children at any length, but I imagine it is one of the most profoundly rewarding experiences in life.”

“It can be,” he agreed, but a wave of sadness washed over him — reminding Spock that for all intents and purposes, McCoy had relinquished his parental rights.

“You have done a noble thing,” Spock said softly, drawing closer as they walked, “in allowing your daughter’s step-father to have the primary role as her father.”

McCoy snorted. “Noble! Yeah, right. You know what it really is, Spock? I’m scared. Scared shitless that I’ll screw up somehow and leave her scarred for life. What do I know about girls? Absolutely nothing! Hell, I couldn’t even figure out when her mom was trying to tell me she was unhappy... or I just didn’t _do_ enough to fix things. I don’t want to be a disappointment for Joanna too.”

Spock grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Leonard, you mustn’t tear down your own self-esteem like this! You would be a _good_ father, if for no other reason than that you _want_ to be. I know you want only what is best for your daughter. Even if you do happen to make mistakes, she will know you love her, and that is what will matter most. I can assure you, both of my parents struggled with rearing me — after all, it was the first time anybody had parented a Human-Vulcan child — but I never doubted that they loved me. That is what gave me the strength to get through my difficult childhood. That is what gave me the confidence to take a risk and join Starfleet. It was not easy, but I knew that they would support me in whatever path I chose.”

McCoy was swaying on his feet, his eyes watering with tears. The complex tempest of his emotions threatened to overwhelm Spock also, but he stood his ground and thereby grounded McCoy as well.

“Thanks, I... I’ll keep that in mind,” the Human choked out.

Spock nodded, then placed a hand on McCoy’s back to gently guide him.

“Please do.... It is not logical to ‘sell yourself short,’ as they say.”

McCoy barked out a laugh — a shaky one, but nevertheless Spock was glad to hear it and to feel his emotions become more lighthearted.

“Doctor, I know you must realize this,” Spock added as they neared their building, “but it is also illogical to drink alcohol when you are already fighting depression.”

“You’re damn right it’s illogical, but it’s the only thing that takes the edge off,” McCoy grumbled. “Like fighting fire with fire, poison with poison.”

“Have you considered alternate methods of coping with it?”

“Like what?” McCoy asked suspiciously.

“Meditation, exercise, hobbies....”

“Never tried meditation — not sure I could get the hang of it. But I’m going swimming with Jim every other day while we’re here. As for hobbies... does insulting you count?”

Spock could not repress the smile that pulled at his mouth. “I believe something more _constructive_ would produce better results.”

“Oh, so now you want _constructive_ insults? My God, Spock, you’re a demanding taskmaster!”

Spock allowed himself a chuckle, which he felt reflected in McCoy as a surge of pleasure and happiness. When they entered the turbolift of their building, however, he sensed the doctor’s mood plummet almost in direct proportion to the floors they rose.

“What is it?” he asked, turning to observe McCoy’s clouded face.

“What’s what?” was his toneless retort.

“You are feeling depressed again.”

Heaving a deep sigh, McCoy let his head fall back against the turbolift wall.

“I just... I hate... going home to an empty apartment. You’d think after all these years it wouldn’t bother me so much, but—”

“If it will help, I will accompany you.”

“What, into the door?”

“And stay for a while, if you wish.”

“I can’t ask you to do that!”

“You have not and you need not — I have already offered.” The turbolift stopped on their floor so they exited, Spock leading the way toward McCoy’s quarters. “Since my Vulcan physiology means that I require less sleep than Humans, I will stay until you have fallen asleep, then return to my own quarters.”

“Spock,” McCoy drawled, half exasperated, half amused. “You’re being awfully nice to me, and I don’t know whether to be touched or really, really terrified that you’ve caught some sort of space virus.”

“I assure you I am in good health... but I will accept your gratitude in the form of _constructive_ insults.”

The snort of a laugh McCoy expelled seemed to lighten his spirits again.

“I’ll have to start thinking of some good ones.”

“You may take your time. I am in no hurry.”


	7. Knit the Raveled Sleeve of Care

While McCoy changed into his sleepwear in the bathroom, Spock glanced around the doctor’s spartan living quarters. The only personal belongings he could see were the books lined up by the bed. As he perused their titles, McCoy came out dressed in a simple black t-shirt and loose cotton drawstring pants.

“This is quite the collection,” Spock commented.

“Bah! Nothing expensive, just some old novels I picked up at a used bookstore here. Help yourself if anything catches your eye.”

“Do you have any recommendations?”

“Well, don’t read any of the Russian ones when you’re feeling down. And you probably won’t like _Alice in Wonderland_.”

“On the contrary, Leonard, I’ve read both it and _Through the Looking Glass_ and found them to be a fascinating window into the Human psyche.”

“Oh? How so?”

“The adaptability of Alice to the bizarre creatures and occurrences which she encounters speaks to the resilience of Humans — especially at a young age — and, in general, the stories are considered to reflect the enigmatic memory processing of the brain through the dream state. Furthermore, Carroll was a traditional mathematician of his time, and he used the stories to satirize some of the new, more complex, and seemingly contradictory theories being introduced in that era.”

“Y’know, Spock,” McCoy drawled, stifling a yawn, “I think you’re actually helping; I’m falling asleep already.”

“Then I shall remain quiet so you may sleep... ‘perchance to dream.’”

“‘Sleep that knits up the raveled sleeve of care,’” McCoy mumbled as he lay down on his bed. “Just make yourself comfortable. If you really want to stay, that is. You don’t have to, you know — it’s not like I’m so drunk that I’m gonna fall down and hurt myself.”

“I suppose that is unlikely,” Spock replied in a lowered voice, perching on the edge of the bed, “but I offered to stay to provide companionship, not a security detail.”

“So if I _do_ fall on my ass, you’ll only be here for moral support?”

Spock’s lips twitched. “I will encourage you to get up on your own, Doctor.”

“Well then, here’s my first constructive insult: that’s about as useful as a screen door on a starship.”

Despite the bluntness of his words, Spock could sense that McCoy was enjoying the verbal repartee. The steady emissions of _HAPPY-HAPPY-GLAD-CONTENT-SLEEPY_ were tinged with delight and good humor.

“It would be illogical to install such a device on a starship,” Spock replied blandly.

“It’s a joke, dammit — don’t you get it?” McCoy responded with no heat behind the accusation. He was bending down to grab the blanket, which was just out of reach, so Spock pulled it up for him. Their hands touched briefly, almost electrifying the Vulcan and making him gasp aloud.

“What? What’s the matter?” McCoy demanded, alert now.

“I... I cannot explain it.... It felt as though... electricity passed between us.”

“Oh!” The doctor was silent for a moment. “Must be static electricity. It tends to build up in synthetic fibers, especially when the air is dry.”

“I know what static electricity feels like,” Spock objected. “This felt... like nothing I’d ever felt before.”

“You want me to take a look at it?” McCoy asked, already getting out of bed and opening a cupboard. “I’ve got a kit right here.”

“No, I do not think that will be necessary.”

“Well, lemme look, just to make sure.”

The light and magnifying lens did not show anything unusual on Spock’s hand, and neither did the tricorder. However, Spock noted that McCoy was now avoiding touching his skin directly.

“Maybe it was a fluke... a freak buildup of static charge,” McCoy suggested, but his feelings were indicating _WORRY-WORRY-HIDE-AVOID_. Spock was forced to conclude that the doctor had a better idea of what had caused the phenomenon but was, for whatever reason, reluctant to voice it.

“As there seems to be no permanent damage,” Spock said, relieved that his own concern was not being transmitted to McCoy, “I see no reason to pursue the matter.”

“All right... but if it happens again, I want you to let me know right away,” McCoy insisted as he packed away his kit. At least his emotions had calmed down, but he was no longer sleepy.

“I’m sorry, Leonard — I did not mean to wake you.”

“Oh, Spock, don’t apologize! It wasn’t your fault you got zapped.”

Curiously, Spock sensed guilt radiating from McCoy.

“It was not a strong charge, simply... startling. Perhaps if you lie down you will be able to relax again.”

“Yeah, sure.” McCoy settled back onto the bed, trying to hide his skepticism — not knowing that it was clearly perceptible to Spock. “Hey, maybe if you read me a bedtime story...” he joked.

“Which one would you prefer?” Spock asked, keeping his expression neutral.

“Oh, God, Spock! I was just kidding.”

“Even so, if it will help you sleep....” Spock picked up one of the books, then saw it was _The Brothers Karamazov_ and put it back. “Perhaps an old Earth tale... you may be familiar with it. My mother used to read it to me when I was a child.”

“Oh? Which one?”

“ _Three Little Pigs_.”

McCoy burst out laughing, then continued to laugh until tears were leaking out of his eyes.

“I fail to see what is so amusing,” Spock said in confusion, which prompted McCoy to get a grip on himself.

“Sorry, it’s just... the thought of your poor Human mother, reading _Three Little Pigs_ to you when you were only a pipsqueak but no doubt a _logical_ Vulcan kid.... What in heaven’s name did you think of it?”

“It was an entertaining moral story, cautioning one to be wise in planning for the future and to not be satisfied with work that is less than one’s best. It also taught that with the proper preparation, one could overcome the various obstacles in one’s life.”

“You got all that out of _Three Little Pigs_? Well, all right, I suppose you could. But it’s a _children’s_ story, Spock — you’re supposed to _enjoy_ it, not analyze it to death!”

“I did appreciate the fact that my mother took the time to teach me such stories from her own culture. It also served to familiarize me with some of Earth’s fauna and their metaphysical symbolism.”

McCoy chuckled, sending out waves of amusement and happiness that washed over Spock.

“All right, then — do you need to read it off a PADD or do you remember it well enough without?”

“I believe I have it memorized,” Spock stated, then began reciting the tale. He tried to infuse the familiar lines with the same animation as his mother had for him, although it was difficult since McCoy’s silent merriment was vibrating through the room. “Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house _in!_ ”

Before Spock could finish the tale, McCoy was shaking from the effort of reining in his laughter.

“It does not seem to be having the desired effect of lulling you to sleep,” Spock put in.

“No, no... I’m sorry, it’s just....” McCoy finally succumbed to the hilarity, doubling up on his side, and had to wipe his tears with a corner of the blanket. “I appreciate it, I really do! But—” He broke off to laugh so hard that he snorted.

“Perhaps you are more inebriated than I had thought,” Spock remarked dryly.

“Yeah, that’s it! In fact... I might be hallucinating this whole thing!” After taking in several deep breaths, McCoy was able to calm himself a little. “It can’t be true, can it? You, Spock, reading me a _bedtime story?_ ”

“I was reciting, not reading — a minor point — but I do not see why it would be beyond the realm of possibility.”

“Okay, _reciting_ , whatever! At any rate, your secret’s safe. Nobody would believe me, anyway!”

“You need not keep it a secret,” Spock began, then paused as he reconsidered.

“Oh, yes, I do! You couldn’t command half as much respect if the crew knew you have _Three Little Pigs_ memorized!”

“Well, perhaps... you may be correct.”

“I _know_ I am,” McCoy declared, then stretched out to lie flat on his bed again. “Okay, I’m wide awake now. What other Earth stories do you know?”

Spock listed a few, pointing out the lessons to be learned from them or, as in the case of _The Boy Who Cried ‘Wolf,’_ the illogical actions taken by the protagonists, which he had struggled to understand as a boy.

“They became more meaningful when I began living among Humans,” he explained. “In fact, that was when I most appreciated my mother having taught them to me.”

“She must have been an amazing woman,” McCoy mused. “Living on Vulcan, surrounded by Vulcans.... I don’t know how she kept from going insane.”

Spock was quiet for a moment before he said, “I do regret... not expressing to her... how much I loved and appreciated her. In Vulcan culture, any expression of emotion is considered... inferior, and so I did not even acknowledge... how much she meant to me.”

McCoy’s smile was sad but genuine. “I’m sure she knew, Spock. She was your mother, after all.”

“I hope she did. She was... exceptionally perceptive.”

“See? There you go. She knew. She probably understood why you were trying so hard to fit in too. And she lived to see you become an officer with Starfleet. She must’ve been so proud!”

“She... She was. She told me... she was.”

Having been in such close proximity to McCoy and inundated by his emotions for so long, Spock found his own feelings bubbling to the surface. His vision grew blurry as his nose stung.

“Aw, dammit, Spock! I didn’t mean to make you cry,” McCoy protested, sitting up to stare at him awkwardly.

Spock sniffed hard, then managed a small laugh. “I realize that... but it is a... _good_ sort of emotion. I miss her... terribly... but it is good to remember her.”

“Yeah.... They’re never really gone as long as we remember them.”

Spock allowed himself to _feel_ the sentiment rising within himself while being suffused with McCoy’s feelings of _GUILTY-SORRY-HEAL-COMFORT-CONCERN-HEAL_. Then he was struck by a sudden epiphany.

_"He reminds me of her."_

McCoy’s depth and strength of feeling, his dogged determination to protect his fellow crew members, his unending passion for making others whole and happy again — though different in quality, the essence of his personality was remarkably similar to Spock’s mother, who had cared for her son jealously, tirelessly, and with all-consuming dedication. She had only ever wanted him to be happy and healthy; so did McCoy. It was humbling and — in that moment of emotional vulnerability — Spock had to admit, comforting.

“I must apologize, Leonard,” Spock slowly said, “for being... very counterproductive to your rest.”

“Oh, dammit all! It’s nothing that a good cup of coffee can’t fix. I don’t have any surgeries tomorrow — at least not scheduled, thank God.”

“I am glad for that. I would blame the alcohol, but as you know, it does not affect my Vulcan physiology.”

“It’s all right, Spock... you’re allowed to miss her. You’re half Human, after all... and even Vulcans must grieve, in their own way.”

Spock nodded and sniffed again, which sent McCoy off the other side of the bed to retrieve a box of tissues. Accepting it gratefully, Spock blew his nose and dried his eyes.

“Well, butter my ass and call me a biscuit,” McCoy said with some perplexity. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Spock, and that’s a fact. First you’re reciting children’s stories and now you’re actually showing _emotion?_ What’s next — playing a banjo at a hoedown?”

“What, exactly, is a ‘hoedown’?” Spock asked, not bothering to hide the smile that was creeping into his face.

“A square-dancin’ party. Next time we go to Earth, I’ll have to take you to one.”

“It sounds... fascinating. But as for my... very _Human_ conduct tonight... I can only surmise that you have been influencing me with your sentimentality.”

“Oh, so now I’m a bad influence on you?” McCoy huffed, quirking one eyebrow.

“I never said it was a _negative_ thing, Leonard.”

This caught McCoy completely off guard and unable to formulate a reply.

“You should lie down... try to get some sleep,” Spock urged. “I have interfered with your rest long enough.”

“All right,” McCoy conceded as he lay back down yet again. “But Spock... seriously, are you feeling all right?”

“I am feeling...” Spock began, then stopped as he realized his own word choice. He let the smile form on his lips before restating, “I feel _fine_ , Leonard.”

“You sure you’re not coming down with Draconian measles or anything?”

“I am sure.”

“’Course, not much I could do for you even if you were,” McCoy said with a sigh. “Some things you just have to let run their course.... It’s getting late, Spock. If you need to turn in—”

“There is still enough time for me to get an adequate amount of sleep,” he quietly assured him. “Just rest now. I will remain silent, in meditation, so as to not disturb you any further.”

“You’ll have to show me how to do that sometime,” McCoy mumbled, his eyes already closed.

“I would be happy to,” Spock whispered, pulling the blanket up over McCoy’s chest without touching him. He watched for a few minutes as the Human’s breathing slowed and his emotions — revolving around _CONTENT-HAPPY-CONTENT-SLEEP_ — grew quieter. Then, for what he gauged to be half an hour, Spock turned his attention inward and meditated to quiet his own thoughts. Lacking a specific light source to focus on, he imagined one with his mind’s eye, and somehow it reminded him of his mother as well: warm, inviting, and brilliant.

When he finally opened his physical eyes, he felt mentally refreshed. He wondered if the waves of peaceful feelings emanating from McCoy might have had something to do with the light within having been colored with affection and repose. He also wondered, as he saw how close his hand had landed to McCoy’s (though still separated by the blanket), what that near-electrical shock had been and why the doctor had seemed hesitant to voice his theory on it. Deciding that solving the riddle could wait, Spock silently left the room.


	8. No Other Answer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry!! So sorry!!! This is the worst chapter..... DX

Spock told the computer to turn on the lights as soon as he entered his door. Moving past the geometric screen wall, he was startled to find Uhura stirring on his bed.

“Nyota... I’m sorry, I did not expect you here.”

“Obviously.” Though her tone was flat, he could sense her disgruntlement.

“Computer, reduce light to thirty percent,” he ordered, noticing when she sat up that the flesh around her eyes was puffy as though she had been crying. He sat down beside her immediately, asking, “What is the matter?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” she replied, pulling her knees up to her chest in a defensive gesture. “What’s going on, Spock? Where have you been all this time?”

“I have been with Dr. McCoy, as I had informed you. You did receive my message, did you not?”

“I did. But it’s past midnight, Spock! It’s almost one o’clock. What could you possibly have to talk about that would take so long?”

“I am not at liberty to say.... Some of the subject matter was spoken in confidence.”

“Oh, is that right.” Uhura’s glare was cold and glinting even in the dimmed light. “Were you talking about me behind my back? Asking him for advice on how to handle _illogical_ Human females?”

Spock’s jaw fell slack in astonishment. “No, Nyota — we were not talking about you at all.”

He had hoped to allay her fears by this statement but was perplexed when it seemed to have the opposite effect.

“Of course not! Because I’m not on your list of priorities at all, am I? I’m not even in your scanning range! You never think of _us_ , you hardly ever think of _me_ , and now — just because he saved your life once — all of a sudden you’re best friends and you want to spend every waking minute with him!”

Spock was stunned by this onslaught, and before he could counter any of her accusations, Uhura started to cry. For the second time, if he had read the signs correctly.

“Nyota... what has happened? Why would you even think such things?” he asked, reaching out to grasp her shoulder. She shook it off, but not before he caught a glimpse of the _PAIN-HURT-SAD-ANGRY-HURT-BROKEN-PAIN_ that was pulsing through her.

“‘What has happened?’” she echoed, mocking and bitter. “What has happened to _you?_ I went out with some friends tonight — thinking it would be good to get out, have some fun, get out of my head — and Amelia told me she saw you giving Dr. McCoy a pendant. In the middle of the walkway. In _broad daylight_.” Uhura’s glower could have stopped an enraged Mugato in its tracks. “She said you actually put it on for him. What is _going on_ with you two?”

“I... I merely gave him a token of my appreciation and respect,” Spock said, still shocked that she would be upset by something so trivial. “A small memento for saving my life.... Surely you can understand that. As for the time I spent with him tonight, it was a necessary discussion regarding the crew member who has been refusing to meet with the counselor—”

“That’s McCoy, too, isn’t it?” Uhura interrupted. “The only other person is the captain himself, and if you were talking about him, it wouldn’t have taken so long. But even if you’re worried about the doctor not taking his own medicine, why should _you_ have to play doctor to _him?_ If that’s really what this is all about!”

“I fail to comprehend what else you could think it is,” Spock replied, not hiding his confusion. “Since you have deduced as much, _yes_ , it is Leonard himself who has not seen the counselor, and yes, I have acquired his promise to set an appointment. I do not pretend to have the necessary skills with which to treat his emotional needs; however, as his friend, I can at least listen to his concerns and attempt to provide some moral support.”

“Mmm... his ‘ _friend._ ’” Uhura pronounced the word with as much sarcasm as she could muster. “Is that all you are? _Really?_ ”

Spock furrowed his brow in consternation. “What are you implying?”

“What do you _think_ I’m implying!” She stood up, clenching both hands into fists. “I’ve had to listen to the two of you bicker for the last _five years_ , Spock — McCoy always trying to get an emotional response from you and you doing your best to thwart him — but don’t tell me you haven’t been enjoying it because _I know better_. You _like_ having someone who challenges you, almost as much as you like winning... maybe even _more_. Then you get thrown into a bad situation together, and when you get back from it, suddenly you’re giving him _jewelry_ and spending all your free time with him even when it’s _past midnight_....” Uhura broke off to catch her breath, then took another to steady herself and demanded, “Where were you and what were you _doing_ tonight?”

Spock licked his lips, which had gone dry, before answering. “I met him in his office, at the hospital, where we shared a meal. Afterwards I pointed out that he had not followed protocol regarding the treatment of emotional trauma, and he agreed to visit his assigned counselor.”

“Oh, yes,” Uhura broke in, “the protocol for emotional trauma — from which you are _conveniently_ exempt. Maybe if Starfleet knew how _Human_ you actually are, they would require you to see a counselor too.”

“I do not see how that would be beneficial, since there are no Vulcan counselors in Starfleet,” Spock countered. “And it would be an inefficient use of a Human counselor’s valuable time, especially considering how many of our crew require treatment now.”

Uhura harrumphed as she paced the room. “So, you got McCoy to agree to see his counselor. Why didn’t you come home then?”

Spock was indignant that she was requiring an account of how he had spent his time; however, he realized that this was not the right moment to mention it.

“He had also agreed to tell me... about his past,” he explained, trying to be vague. “About his experiences on Earth. I cannot elaborate without revealing what he said in confidence.”

Uhura rolled her eyes and continued pacing. “So all this time, he was telling you his life story?”

Truthfully, Spock had to answer, “Not the entire duration. I walked with him to his quarters since he was slightly intoxicated. And then we discussed... literature.”

“ _Literature?_ ” Uhura said, her tone indicating utter disbelief.

“Yes. Terran literature,” Spock returned adamantly. “He has quite a collection of books.”

Even though Spock considered it something of a stretch to call _Three Little Pigs_ literature, he could at least be entirely truthful about McCoy’s book collection. After listening to Uhura’s insinuations, he realized that he could never reveal to her the exact nature of their literary discussion — or the circumstances surrounding it.

“And you just... _talked_... about _literature_... until one in the morning?”

“As well as my mother,” he added, “since she was the one who had introduced me to Terran literature.”

Something in Spock’s voice caused Uhura to halt and study him.

“You talked with him about your _mother?_ ” she asked, but the sarcasm was gone from her tone.

“Yes. He had also told me about... _his_ family,” Spock said, careful not to divulge more than necessary.

“You haven’t talked to _me_ about your mother — not since she died,” Uhura stated. “Or at least, not unless I’ve forced you to.”

“I... was not aware....” Spock swallowed and started over. “It is still difficult for me, Nyota. Losing her like that.... I have yet to come to terms with it.”

“I _know_.” Uhura sat on the edge of the bed, leaning in close to him so he could not help but meet her gaze. “And I’ve wanted to _help_ you with it, help you work _through_ it, but you won’t let me _in_.”

“That... was not my intention,” he protested. “I simply... need more time to process it. I did not mean to shut you out, _T’hy’la_.”

“And yet... you were able to talk to _McCoy_ about her?”

“He... He understands loss and pain well. He had shared his own with me, so I thought it was reciprocal, in a way, that I share mine with him.”

“Why, Spock?” Uhura stood again in agitation and frustration. “Why _him_ and not _me?_ ”

Spock weighed the variables in his mind. He knew if he so much as hinted that the doctor seemed more emotionally stable than Uhura was acting at the moment, it would only insult her and make matters worse. He could not in good conscience claim that McCoy was the more logical choice, since the woman he had dated for over six years would indubitably have preference for something of this nature. The only thing that remained was... the subjective truth.

“I felt... _safe_... to share it with him,” Spock at last admitted. “He has been... surprisingly insightful... and _kind_. He reminded me that my mother would have understood my efforts to be accepted in Vulcan culture... that she would have known how much she meant to me, even though I could not express it adequately. Things I should have remembered... but had lost sight of in my grief.”

“Oh, Spock... I could have told you that,” Uhura murmured.

Spock nodded his agreement. “I know... but I had forgotten that I even needed to be reminded. And... in a strange way... in spite of their many differences... Leonard reminds me of her.”

Uhura drew in a sharp breath, then turned away and crossed her arms as though struggling against tears. Spock could sense the rising tempest of emotions in her, even without being in physical contact, and wondered what he had done or said wrong this time. When she faced him again, her eyes were glistening.

“Spock... be honest with me — and with yourself, for a change — and tell me: are you in love with him?”

“I... _what?_ ”

Spock was too astounded to say anything else; however, Uhura continued to stand there, waiting for his answer, tears spilling down her cheeks. He tried to gather his chaotic thoughts to reply.

“I... I fail to understand... why you would even consider...”

The withering look she gave him made him stop.

“You’ve been thinking about him all the time, worried about him, spending _insane_ amounts of time with him, and you’ve even given him a _gift_ for simply doing his job! What else _am_ I supposed to think? What would _you_ think if _I_ went around spending my time with another man, then talked about him incessantly when we’re together? If I gave him _jewelry_ for rescuing me in the line of duty?”

“I would... base my judgments on what you tell me, of course. If you tell me that your relationship is strictly platonic, then I would not doubt you, Nyota.”

Uhura’s face crumpled as she began to cry yet again. Spock stood to embrace her but was blocked by her upheld arms.

“You don’t get it, Spock! You _ought_ to doubt me if you see all the _symptoms!_ ”

“Nyota... _T’hy’la_ ,” Spock said gently, using the Vulcan term of endearment in hopes of calming her. “You have never been dishonest with me. Why should I doubt you? You are not thinking logically—”

“Of _course_ I’m not thinking logically!” she snapped. “I’m _Human_ , Spock. I am _not_ a logical being! And I am _not_ as strong... as you think I am.” She sobbed for a moment, unable to speak, but when he drew near she shook her head to ward him off. “Yes, I’m getting help... from the counselor, but that doesn’t mean... I don’t need you! I _do_. I need you... to be here for me... to help me _through_ this... but all you can think about... is McCoy....”

“I am sorry, Nyota,” Spock said, regret churning in his stomach. “I should have set aside more time to be with you. I did not mean to neglect you — you must know this. If only you had said something sooner, I would have done everything in my power to avoid causing you such pain.”

She suddenly straightened her shoulders and forced herself to be calm with a strength of self-discipline that would have impressed any Vulcan _kolinahr_ master.

“Don’t you see, Spock? You would have had to _try_ to avoid it. Yes, I do know that you never _meant_ to hurt me... but you couldn’t help yourself. You’ve become _obsessed_ with the doctor... in a way that I don’t think you ever were with me, even when we first started seeing each other. You’re drawn to him; I think you always have been. And it’s obvious that he’s been drawn to you, right from the start. Your game of constant needling and one-upmanship... you couldn’t leave each other alone. Maybe it’s just the thrill of competition, but I’ve always wondered... worried... if it weren’t something more.”

Spock opened his mouth to deny it, then discovered that he could not. After being presented with her arguments, he could not be so sure of his position anymore. Observing his hesitation, Uhura sighed.

“I’m sorry, Spock. I had promised myself that I wouldn’t act like a... jealous harpy, screaming at you and accusing you about the ‘other woman’ — or ‘other man’ — but I’m afraid that’s exactly what I’ve done. And you don’t deserve that.” She sniffed, which made his heart ache. “I need to pull myself back together again... and although it would be easier to have you with me, to rely on you, I need to do this on my own... to prove to myself that I can do this. And... I think... you need to figure out what your feelings for Dr. McCoy are.”

Spock was still somewhat shell-shocked, but he nodded in acquiescence.

“If that is what you wish... I will respect it. But you will always have my support, Nyota. Please do not forget that.”

“I know.” Uhura sniffed again as the tears welled in her eyes. “You have been... so good to me....”

As she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, Spock could feel all her sorrow, loneliness, and pain. It felt a thousand times worse to know that he had caused it — and could do nothing to alleviate it.


	9. Self-Diagnostic

Spock could not fall asleep easily after that. He had to force himself, with all of the willpower and concentration he’d been taught on Vulcan, to shut down his racing thoughts so he could sleep, and even then it was not restful. In the morning he muddled through his first hour of work, thankful that much of it was routine, then went to the rooftop of the building on his medically required break. The temporary offices that Starfleet had assigned to the Enterprise crew were in a high-rise near the intersection with another inhabited strip, so from his vantage point Spock had the dizzying view of a park with a pond directly in _front_ of him rather than below. Still, he considered it a good place to relax and gather his thoughts.

He could not decide if what troubled him most about Uhura’s confrontation was the fact that he had been insensitive to her needs or her accusation that he might be in love with Dr. McCoy. For the former, he had already apologized but still felt deeply remorseful — he recalled how he had ignored the feelings of unease he had sensed in her, and he blamed himself for not bringing it up and at least getting her to explain why she had felt that way. He accused himself of not caring enough, of not paying enough attention to the subtle clues he had found, and thereby hurting Uhura deeply. As for the latter, he had not even considered such a possibility. Vulcan logic dictated that mating was for procreation, precluding any same-gender couples (even though they now had the technology to create offspring with the DNA from any pairing within their species) except for rare cases, such as in remote mining colonies where the gender distribution was unequal; due to the requirements of the _pon farr_ , same-gender couplings in those situations were considered expedient, necessary, and even logical. Spock realized the irony that if he chose a Human mate, he would be almost incapable of procreation, anyway, so the logical demands that he choose a mate of the opposite gender did not apply to him.

Which left him with the obvious question: _Am I in love with McCoy?_

It was difficult for him to pinpoint love as an emotion, even when he was in physical contact with someone. With his mother, it had been expressed in his mind as _CARE_ or _WORRY_ or _PRIDE_. As a child he had concluded that the more she felt for him or about him, the more she loved him. It was the culmination and directionality of emotions that seemed to define this elusive phenomenon called love. Within himself, it was even more difficult to identify, but the duration of time spent dwelling on thoughts of McCoy — or with McCoy himself — seemed a logical place to start his analysis.

_“Is what Nyota said true? Have I been obsessed with him?”_

Spock had to admit that he might have been. While he had originally justified his attentions as being a natural result of their shared experience, he had been in dire situations with other members of the crew but had not remained focused on them once the incident had been resolved. Jim had also saved his life, risking his own career, and yet Spock had filed his accurate and contradictory report, which had led to Jim’s (thankfully only temporary) demotion.

 _“I was younger then and not aware of the full implications, for Humans, of saving another’s life_ , he considered. _However, if it had been Jim who had kept me alive on Altamid — although it is doubtful he would have had the skills to do so — would I have felt compelled to give him a gift? Leonard had made several pointed remarks about Nyota’s pendant, forming the idea in my mind that he places a great deal of significance on items of jewelry. He often wears his Starfleet Academy class ring, too, so I knew he would be receptive of such a gift. He had called me an ingrate, and I sincerely wished to disabuse him of that misconception. But if Jim had done the same things and said the same things, would I have given him a gift as well? He had accused me of worse after I had filed my report, and yet... I did not even think of giving him a token of my regret or gratitude...._

 _“Was my compulsion to give Leonard a gift... an_ emotional _response?”_ Spock wondered with some apprehension. _“I told him, truthfully, that I had wanted to do so.... What else have I been doing since the Altamid Incident that might have been based on sentiment rather than logic?”_

He began counting them off in his head:

 _1\. I wanted to give him the gift, when I had felt no such compulsion toward Jim after the volcano incident._  
_2\. I was thinking about Leonard even when I was with Nyota, which upset her and made her jealous._  
_3\. I went to see his surgery. While that might have been due to scientific curiosity, I had never heard of the Oyenusi Syndrome before then and have had no particular interest in other illnesses of its sort, so my only motivation was probably the fact that Dr. McCoy was the one performing the surgery._  
_4\. I went to his office upon his invitation, ostensibly to receive the PADD with the courses on Human psychology he had recommended, but... I was sincerely delighted to see where he is now working. It could be labeled idle curiosity or happiness in a crewmate’s success... but it could also be the evidence of a more deep-seated, intimate interest... attraction._  
_5\. I stayed there, talking with him, until Nyota called in concern. Had she not called, I would probably have stayed there much longer._  
_6\. Then I invited him to dinner with Nyota and me, not realizing that it would be awkward and difficult for him in that type of situation. But my first thought was to ensure that he had companions for the meal... not, as Nyota would point out, my relationship with her, which I ought to have been strengthening._  
_7\. Later that night, I was thinking of him again... perhaps “obsessing,” as Nyota would say, about his not receiving help from a counselor. This could have been merely out of concern for a crewmate... except I could have notified him via a simple message._  
_8\. Then yesterday I chose to spend the entire evening with him, despite sensing worry and jealousy in Nyota. I should have made her my priority, but I dismissed my concerns. Did I do that deliberately? Did I turn a blind eye to her emotional needs and choose to spend my time with Leonard because... it was easy? Because it was more comfortable? Because I am more_ attracted _to Leonard than I am to Nyota?_

Spock could not come up with a quick answer to that question, so he sighed and continued composing his list.

 _9\. I wanted to take him a meal that he would enjoy, so I chose something from his home district on Earth. That would seem to be only logical and polite. However, it could also be construed as an attempt to gain his favor._  
_10\. I acquired his promise to see his counselor. This was from a true concern for his wellbeing, but it might also be considered an obsessive interest in him as an individual._  
_11\. Nyota asked why I did not leave him and come home at that point, but he had offered to tell me the true reason for his depression — as a friend, I could not have left him then in good conscience. However, since my curiosity might be considered excessive interest in him as well, this should be counted also._  
_12\. Perhaps this is not of my doing, but I can sense his feelings more powerfully than any other Human I have ever met. Did we forge some kind of bond during our time together on Altamid? Or did I become attuned to his emotions due to some subconscious attraction to him? Or are his emotions simply more powerful than most?_  
_13\. I accompanied him back to his quarters out of concern for his intoxicated state. It may not have been necessary, but I wanted to do so... for his safety and my own peace of mind. Was it above and beyond the care of a platonic friend? Perhaps not, since I can easily envision Jim doing the same for him in a similar situation. However, my strong desire to stay with him may be an indication of an inherent attraction._  
_14\. Staying in his quarters with him until he fell asleep... was definitely beyond the purview of a friend. Even Jim would probably not do so, although he might have ensured that Leonard was safely settled in bed, depending on the degree of his inebriation._  
_15\. Reciting an ancient Terran children’s story is no doubt beyond the normal functions of a friend as well. Though it seemed like the logical thing to do at the time, I may have been deluding myself. It appears to be yet another proof of my attraction to Leonard._  
_16\. I shared some of my innermost thoughts about my mother with him... and it felt natural to do so. His personality resemblance to Mother and the fact that he had shared his own pain with me made it easy to trust him, even with such a difficult topic. But Nyota is correct in that I had not shared my thoughts with her on the same matter. Did I not trust her enough? Was I trying to protect her? But she had suffered her trauma quite recently — I could have spoken with her at any time during the previous five years, yet I had failed to do so. Why, then, did I feel no hesitation to speak with Leonard? Was it because of his innate compassion and warmth, or my attraction to him? Unclear._  
_Additional Note: The cause of that electric-like shock is still unknown._

Thus he concluded his list of possible proofs that he was attracted to McCoy. Analyzing it, Spock realized that his own definition of “attraction” was vague, which had caused some questions to be left unanswered.

 _“What_ is _attraction, anyway? Although it seems many Humans determine attraction based on physical traits, I have always considered intellectual and moral compatibility to be more important criteria. Leonard is intelligent, obviously, having completed a regular medical course as well as the Starfleet Medical Academy; he can recall and treat a number of dissimilar humanoid species without referring to the computer; and he has also displayed a remarkable aptitude for piloting — in an alien craft with unfamiliar markings, no less. While he does not go about flaunting it, he is quite possibly one of the most intelligent Humans I have ever met._

 _“As for moral character, his profession speaks volumes. With his large physical build, he could have become an athlete or soldier or even a command officer with Starfleet, but instead he has chosen to be a healer_ — _to_ save _lives rather than harming them. I had always recognized his passion and dedication to his vocation, but after sensing his emotions while caring for me, I know now that he is a healer by his very nature. And in spite of his occasional emotional outbursts, when Jim was being particularly illogical and insubordinate, Leonard tried to stop him and make him see reason — perhaps to protect both his friend and the crew, as is his duty. He may protest my un-emotional methodology at times, but he is still a man of science and reason. His level-headedness and resourcefulness in emergency situations are precisely what allowed him to save my life._

_“Then is it gratitude that has drawn me to him? But if so, I should have become ‘obsessed’ with Jim as well, but that does not seem to have occurred. At least Nyota has not accused me of such... and I cannot remember spending as much time with Jim outside of work or thinking about him as extensively as I have with and about Leonard. So what else might be attracting me to Leonard? Had I sensed, long before I had realized it, that his nurturing spirit was reminiscent of Mother’s? In Human psychology, it is a respected belief that some are attracted to those who display similar traits as their own family members; was that, perhaps, making me gravitate toward him — even without realizing it?_

_“The only other criterion left is the physical. Leonard is healthy and physically fit, and I would judge him to be handsome for a Human male. Some Terran females seem to appreciate height, and he is certainly of a good height, with broad shoulders denoting his strength — indeed he was strong enough to help carry my weight when I was injured. Yet despite his strength, he was very gentle in handling me, trying his best not to make my injury any worse. He even insisted on my sleeping on his body to keep my core temperature from falling... perhaps also protecting me from the uncomfortable hardness of the floor. He is considerate and kind... and passionate about protecting his friends — all very admirable traits.”_

Remembering how McCoy had held him that night, with the doctor’s strong feelings of _PROTECT-PROTECT-PROTECT_ saturating him, Spock felt a glow of warmth. The tone of McCoy’s emotions had been as hot as the Vulcan sun, inexorably pouring life and energy into all who drew near. His hands had seemed to radiate healing into Spock’s weary frame. This was the most physically close Spock had been to another male in all of his life, and far from being awkward or uncomfortable, he had felt relaxed and... _safe_. Though his mind had known that the abandoned building offered scant protection against innumerable dangers, McCoy’s very presence and determination to protect him had lulled Spock into a restful, peaceful sleep.

 _“Perhaps that is the primary reason I was — and probably still am — drawn to him,”_ Spock pondered. _“His strength of character... his compassion... his_ love _, in a sense, for his patients. All very, very admirable traits.”_

The final question in Spock’s mind, then, was: _Do I desire to have an intimate, physical relationship with him?_

 _“I find him intellectually compatible... his character is noble and admirable beyond a doubt,”_ Spock answered himself. _“And although I had not considered a physical relationship with another male heretofore, there is no reason for me to avoid it. He is as physically attractive as anyone could possibly wish, even though that is not a priority for me. It seems there is no obstruction to forming such a relationship — at least on my part.”_

Spock thought back to how he and Uhura had grown intimate. After she had finished taking all of the advanced Vulcan language courses he offered, she had approached him with an invitation to dinner, for which she had meticulously cooked traditional Vulcan dishes. Their first physical contact was when she had slipped her hand into his as they walked an easy hiking trail — her nervousness and excitement transmitting through his skin. Then one night when he had walked her back to her dormitory, she told him to wait, then stood on her tiptoes to place a tender kiss on his cheek.

Spock imagined walking that same hiking trail with McCoy while holding his hand, then allowed himself to feel his own response. He was a little nervous, embarrassed, and excited, but since he already knew the warmth and comfort McCoy usually exuded, he thought it would be a pleasant experience overall. Then he envisioned being kissed by the doctor — a simple, chaste kiss on his cheek with a half-teasing smile on McCoy’s lips as he drew near — and a surge of heat consumed his body. His male organ grew half-erect in just the space of that moment, startling him and making him lean closer against the wall to hide the bulge in his uniform.

 _“Well,”_ he thought, breathless and shocked at the revelation, _“it seems Nyota was correct in her assessment: I_ am _attracted to Leonard!”_

He tried to focus on the trees in the park in front of his eyes, hoping that would calm his raging hormones, but all he could think was, _“If being kissed by him is so desirable, what about a mutual kiss?”_

His erection grew to its full extent as he considered opening his mouth to receive McCoy’s probing tongue, tasting him and feeling all of his emotions first-hand — they might sear him with their intensity, but Spock thought he could bear anything for the pleasure of basking in the Human’s undivided attention. McCoy would probably want to hold him, wrapping him in those strong arms and pulling him close; Spock knew he would gladly stay there forever, content and happy beyond anything he had ever experienced before. Without realizing it, he touched his lips with a finger, imagining the phantom heat of McCoy’s passionate kiss.

“Hey, Spock!” came a familiar voice from behind him. He turned to see Jim jogging up. “You all right? You’re usually back at your desk by 1100, but it’s already 1130.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUUUNNNNN!!!  
> Sorry for the cliffhanger! XD


	10. An Ear to Bend

Spock began to turn toward Jim but remembered in the nick of time that he had an embarrassing situation in the front of his uniform. Gripping the top of the wall with both hands, he drew in a deep breath to calm himself before responding.

“I—I’m sorry, Captain, I did not realize it was... so long past my work hours—”

“No, don’t sweat it! You’re still on restricted duty, anyway, so if you need to take some time off, just say so.” Jim approached and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I only wanted to make sure you’re okay since it’s not like you to be gone so long. Hey, is it my imagination or is your skin turning green?”

The remark only served to make Spock’s complexion turn greener.

“I, ah... possibly....”

“Oh, God! It’s getting worse. I’ll tell Bones to get his ass here right away, transporter phobia be damned—”

“No! No, Jim, please! It’s not—it’s not serious!” Spock protested, sputtering when Jim pulled out his communicator.

“Spock, it’s spreading!”

“Please! It’s nothing serious. It’s just... I am simply... _embarrassed_.”

_“What?”_

“I am embarrassed that I have lost track of time to such a degree,” Spock explained, still flushed but better able to communicate now that he had Jim’s attention. “The green tint of my skin is from my green blood. I believe the term is... ‘blushing.’”

“Oh! _Right_ , green blood, green blush—You’re _blushing?_ ”

Spock opened his mouth to reply, then could not think of anything to say. Jim, however, did not seem to notice his discomfiture.

“Oh my God, even the tips of your ears are green! That’s... pretty damn adorable, actually.” He grinned and patted his first officer’s shoulder. “But seriously, don’t worry about work! Not like you haven’t racked up a month’s worth of paid leave, right? And all the reports are coming in normal — ‘Status: On Schedule’ for every last one — so it’s not like there’s anything you need to do. I was getting bored out of my mind, to tell you the truth, and came looking for you just to get out of the damn office. But are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

Spock considered for a moment and answered, “Actually, no. And since it has already affected my performance, I must report the reason to you as my commanding officer.”

“Oh? What’s going on? And what’s up with the blushing — I thought you didn’t feel emotions?”

“A... momentary lapse,” Spock confessed, focusing every last ounce of his willpower to bring his body under control. His erection, at least, seemed to be deflating. “I had... allowed myself to experience my emotions... for the benefit of studying them.”

“Really,” Jim said, thoroughly intrigued. “You can turn them on and off like that?”

“It is more a matter of... not restricting them. It requires effort to keep them under control constantly; to cease that effort is a matter of relative ease.”

“I... hadn’t thought about it like that. So, what’s all this soul-searching about?”

Spock realized he would have to be careful as to how much he divulged to Jim, who — as his comment had indicated — was very perceptive.

“Lieutenant Uhura and I have... decided to part ways... at least in our personal lives.”

“Oh, Spock... I’m so sorry to hear that. I mean... you two looked _happy_ at the party the other day!”

“She informed me of her decision this morning,” Spock told him. “Apparently, I had not been as supportive of her as I should have been, considering the trauma she had suffered on Altamid.”

“Aww, Spock — don’t beat yourself up over it,” Jim said. “Sure, what she went through was awful — I read her report — but she’s a Starfleet officer, trained to handle these types of situations. Of course she’s also Human, so it’s gonna take some time to work through it. She’s probably second-guessing herself, wondering what she could’ve done to prevent even one of the casualties, but... she has to realize that sometimes, things are simply out of your control. Otherwise you end up in an endless maze of guilt.”

Spock studied Jim’s face as he spoke, perceiving that his captain’s words came from his own experience.

“But maybe after she processes all that, she’ll be ready to talk again,” Jim continued, throwing a quick smile at Spock. “She can’t expect you to know _everything_ she’s feeling. I mean, I know you feel emotions, Spock, but even if you’d gone through the same exact situation with her, you’re not going to react to it the same way. Everyone’s different. And maybe you weren’t supportive _enough_ , but I’d bet anything you were at least _trying_ to be supportive of her. Maybe she’ll see that... when she’s ready.”

Spock nodded. Jim’s perspective did lighten much of the guilt he had been feeling.

“That’s what ship’s counselors are for, anyway,” Jim said, then added, “and speaking of which, Bones told me you bribed him with a chicken dinner to make his own appointment. That’s a trick I hope you don’t mind if _I_ try on him sometime.”

“I... did not intend the dinner to be a _bribe_ ,” Spock replied, struggling to keep his head above the complicated and agitated sea of emotions formed in his heart by the mere mention of the doctor’s name. Jim laughed.

“I’m just kidding, Spock! Relax! I should be thanking you for getting through his thick head — except that then he turned around and started nagging _me_. But I told him I’d do it if he did, so we both made our appointments this morning.”

“I am... gratified to hear that,” Spock said, trying furiously not to blush any more.

“I thought you might be. Funny how Starfleet doesn’t think _you_ need to see a counselor, though.”

“I believe my training in Vulcan logic and discipline is considered adequate.”

“Yeah, but you’re also half Human, Spock. Be honest: do you need some time off? To work through all this with Uhura? Or _about_ her, I should say. If you do, just say the word. Or if you’d rather call it medical leave, all you have to do is let Bones know — he’s in meetings with the hospital administration today so he’d thank you for getting him out of it for a while.”

“That will not be necessary,” Spock hastily said. “However, if I might take the next duty hour off... it will probably enhance my productivity thereafter.”

“All right, if that’s all you need... but don’t feel like you _have_ to come back in today. Like I said, work has been about as exciting as watching paint dry.”

Jim watched in amusement as Spock analyzed the meaning of the expression.

“I will consider your offer, Captain. Thank you.”

Jim nodded and smiled. “At ease, Spock — we’re on break, after all. Oh, by the way, I also wanted to thank you for getting Bones home last night. He said he was drunk off his ass by the time you guys left his office. He couldn’t remember much after that but he was pretty sure you got him back to his quarters and stayed until he was settled in.”

“Ah... yes. I was concerned that he might have some difficulty on his own.”

“Thanks, Spock. He can usually hold his liquor, but I guess he got a little carried away — said he saw some weird-ass dreams... something about nursery rhymes.... He was still hung over this morning when we went for our swim ’cuz the pills hadn’t kicked in yet. But did you notice how he talks better when he’s drunk? He hardly even slurs like a normal person would — just drawls more and gets chattier.”

“He did seem... rather more loquacious than usual,” Spock managed while still trying to process what else Jim had mentioned.

“He said he even told you about Joanna, which is really something.”

“Yes... I was surprised to learn he had a daughter.”

“Yeah, he keeps it under wraps pretty tightly.” Jim rested his elbows on the wall and looked out at the park. “Wow, this view is trippy! You’re looking down _into_ those trees from above. Wild!”

“Jim... I wonder,” Spock began, trying to act nonchalant, “I don’t mean to pry, but... Dr. McCoy said something about your trying to get him to go horseback riding again.”

 _“What?”_ Jim squinted his eyes at Spock. “He’s never ridden a horse in his life! Claims they’re vicious beasts hell-bent on throwing people and giving them concussions. And I wouldn’t even bother trying to talk him into it. You sure that’s what he said?”

“I... had thought so,” Spock replied, now uncertain.

“Oh, wait — I know what you’re talking about!” Jim burst out. “You mean I was trying to ‘get him back up on the horse that threw him,’ right?”

“Yes!” Spock furrowed his brow. “I fail to see how that is different.”

“It’s a _metaphorical_ horse, Spock,” Jim explained with a grin. “In this case it means I’m trying to get him back into the dating scene. Have been ever since I met him, actually, so it’s been... God! It’s been almost eight years already. And no joy in all those years. It’s a damn shame... and a damn waste. He’s such a great guy....”

“So the horse is... symbolic of... _dating_?” Spock asked, hesitant and confused.

“Yeah, or whatever knocked you down and made you scared to try again. For Bones it’s romantic relationships. He told you about his ex-wife, right? Well, she really took him for a ride... and that doesn’t mean in a good way, of course.”

“So I had gathered.”

“I mean, there he was, trying to make the best of a bad situation, and she couldn’t — or wouldn’t — wait for things to get resolved. It wasn’t _his_ fault he had to do all that extra work, which he hadn’t even finished training for properly, with people’s lives at risk! But she cheated on him and then took his house and everything in the divorce, as if all she’d ever wanted from him was his money. No wonder he’s turned into a bitter, grumbling old man before his time! And the saddest thing about it is, he was still in love with her when it all happened.... He was still hoping to get through what he thought was a ‘rough patch’ — with couple’s counseling or whatever it took — when he found out she was sleeping with another guy.”

Spock could scarcely imagine what an impact that must have had. Although he had been working to control his emotions, he could feel them starting to rise to the surface again. With an effort, he tamped them down.

“That was... a betrayal,” he commented, trying to ignore the remembered image of Jim’s face when he had found out about Spock’s report to Pike. “A betrayal... not only of trust but also of love.”

“Exactly! Which is why he’s so afraid of falling in love again. I tried to set him up with nice girls — and not just pretty but smart too — but he kept canceling on them or making excuses or ruining the first date by being even _more_ grumpy than usual. Then if any of them were willing to put up with him and give him a second try, he had the balls to say they were just gold-diggers, only interested in him because he’s a doctor and an officer! I even tricked him into a couple of double dates, but then he would be mad at me for _days_. I had to give up, especially when we started our five-year mission. He’s a confirmed bachelor now, I’m afraid.”

“Is being a gold miner considered... dishonorable?” Spock asked, raising one eyebrow. He had expected _all_ vocations to be considered equal, even on Earth.

“Oh! No, ‘gold-digger’ means someone who’s only interested in money... or material gain. See, any doctor — particularly a good one like Bones — could rake in the credits in the private sector if they wanted. Being the chief medical officer on a Federation ship isn’t shabby, either, but just by being a doctor — even if you don’t count that he’s an officer on top of that — you’re pretty much guaranteed a good life. So he thinks any girl who’s interested in him is only interested in his money, just like his ex. I’m telling you, she took a lot more from him than his house: she took his confidence.”

“I am... extremely sorry to hear that,” Spock said slowly. “I had also observed... Dr. McCoy has very little confidence that he would be a good father to Joanna. I attempted to correct his way of thinking, though I do not know what degree of success I might have had.”

“That’s good of you, Spock! And you’re right, he’s worried about that too, even though you and I both know he’d be a _terrific_ dad. Basically, the only thing he has any self-confidence in anymore is his doctoring skills... but you can’t be married to a profession — it can’t love you back.”

Spock raised a brow at the obvious truism but had to acknowledge that it was logical. Which gave him an idea.

“Do you have any evidence to disprove his theory that those women were... ‘gold-diggers’?” he asked. “Some proof to logically refute his allegations?”

“Aww, I don’t know.... One of the first things people ask someone when they’re introduced is their job — especially on a date — so it’s not like I can get hard evidence that they weren’t influenced by knowing he’s a doctor. It’s a good thought, though.... Maybe I should set him up with girls who don’t know what he does... but what would I tell them if they ask? Say he’s in Starfleet without his rank and title? Or make something up that’s less... lucrative?”

Spock frowned. “I believe it is inadvisable to begin _any_ relationship with deception.”

“I know... but that’s what makes it so impossible to hook him up with anyone!” Jim passed a hand through his hair in frustration. “I guess the only alternative is to find someone who’s already so rich that it wouldn’t matter, but even I don’t have _that_ many connections....”

The ruminative silence that followed was broken by Jim’s communicator beeping. “Kirk here,” he answered automatically.

“Captain, you’re requested to meet Commodore Fredricks in Conference Room 3.”

“Oh, right! Tell him I’m sorry to keep him waiting — something personal came up. I’ll be there right away.” To Spock he added, “Duty calls. More debriefing. Good thing I wore an extra pair today, huh?”

Before the quizzical look on Spock’s face had resolved, Jim was halfway across the rooftop to the turbolift.

Spock returned his gaze to the park. He had not voiced it to Jim, but he thought he might have come up with a viable third alternative to the conundrum Dr. McCoy posed.

 _“Ridiculous,”_ he scolded himself. _“It’s... wishful thinking. I must not allow my emotions to dictate my actions.”_

He suddenly realized that he was gripping the edge of the wall much harder than was necessary; also realizing that he had no further need to be pressed against the concrete, he relaxed his grip and forced himself to assume his usual position — hands clasped behind his back — as he made his way to the turbolift and then to his quarters. He knew he was in need of a long meditation session.


	11. Life Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! This was a hard chapter to write. In fact I had to re-write it a couple of times (after creating an outline, because Spock is so darn logical and me, not so much) to make it work, so I hope you like it! :)

Spock conscientiously set an alarm to rouse himself in time to return to work by 1500, having received the captain’s permission to skip his 1300 duty hour as well as the 1100. He hoped to work for 2 hours straight to make up for one of the missed hours; the other he would do later in the evening either today or tomorrow. It all depended on how much focus he could regain by meditation. He had also purchased a salad on his way back to his quarters, which he now sat down to eat.

His communicator beeped before he had finished his first bite.

“Spock here.”

“Spock! Are you all right?” Uhura asked, sounding distressed. “You didn’t come back at your usual time so the captain went looking for you, but then he had a lunch meeting—”

“I am fine, Nyota,” Spock interrupted. “The captain did find me. I will return to my duty station at 1500.”

“Spock... I’m so sorry,” she started anew, her tone low and contrite. “I shouldn’t have blown up at you last night, especially when it was so late....”

“If you believe the lateness of the hour is what affected me this morning, then you are mistaken. And there is no need to apologize, Nyota — your arguments were valid and logical. I thank you for bringing them to my attention.”

“Oh?”

“In fact I was contemplating the various pieces of evidence regarding your accusation that I have become obsessed with Dr. McCoy and... lost track of the time.”

 _“Another proof of my obsession,”_ he mentally counted before continuing.

“After compiling at least sixteen of them, I am forced to conclude that your observations are correct. I have been... acting irrationally — on impulse, as it were — when it came to matters regarding him, although I was not conscious of it at the time. For that, it is _I_ who must apologize to _you_.”

There was a pause on the other end, during which Spock could hear the distant clattering of dishes. Uhura was probably calling from somewhere near the cafeteria since it was her lunch hour.

“I... I see,” she finally began, “so... I was right. You _are_ in love with him.”

“That is a premature assumption,” Spock hurried to say. “Obsession does not necessarily equate with love. It may be an intense fascination — such as one might develop for a specific field of study, which will be satisfied as soon as an adequate investigation of it has been concluded. Or the circumstances of our being stranded together on Altamid may have formed a strong bond between us, which may dissipate over time. In any case, it would be incautious to assume that attraction is tantamount to love.”

Spock could hear her swallow before she said, “But you _are_ attracted to him.”

He had not considered in advance how that word would affect her, but he could not deny the truth now.

“Yes,” he stated, closing his eyes as he did so.

There was another long moment of silence in which Spock thought he could hear her sniff — perhaps muffled into a handkerchief.

“I understand,” she said at last, her voice steeled and steady. “I assume you’re going to tell him?”

“That... I have not yet decided,” he admitted. “I have not had adequate time to consider the matter any further.”

Uhura took in a deep breath before saying, “You should, Spock. You really should. I think he would be... pleasantly surprised.”

“I will... take that under advisement,” Spock replied, sensing grief and sorrow frothing in his usually placid pool of emotions. He knew Uhura was letting him go, giving him permission, as best she could. “You know I have always respected your opinion, Nyota... in _all_ matters.”

“I know,” she said gently.

“I fear... I do not know how to sufficiently express my regret.”

“It’s all right, Spock... these things happen. I just want you to... promise me... that you’ll take care of yourself.”

“I will,” he answered, “as I also wish of you.”

There was a definite sniff before she said, “Goodbye, Spock.”

“Goodbye, Nyota.”

Spock discovered he no longer had any appetite for the salad, but he forced himself to eat it anyway. It was the least he could do to honor Uhura’s wishes.

***

Focusing on the flame in front of him was proving difficult. Not only was Spock distracted by the turmoil in his heart from the finality of his breakup with Uhura, but he was also struggling (and failing) to ignore the question she had posed to him. Realizing that it was illogical to ignore the matter when it was so obviously demanding his attention, he decided to deal with it instead.

 _“Should I or should I not inform Leonard of my... attraction to him?”_ he mulled. _“Nyota suggested that he might be ‘pleasantly surprised.’ I suppose it is a pleasant thing to know that one is liked... admired... respected... regardless of the circumstances. I had attempted to communicate as much with my gift, but this would be... another thing altogether.”_

Spock thought he felt his heartrate increase, but he only concentrated harder on the issue at hand.

_“There is no evidence that the doctor is attracted to other males, let alone one from another species. Nyota seems to think he has some sort of... fascination with me, but that is no doubt due to our very different personalities. He experiences emotions very deeply — even more so than other Humans — so the fact that I can control mine must seem an enigma to him... like a puzzle, to be solved. Perhaps that is why he has always been so bent on provoking an emotional response from me.... He may hold me in some regard as the science and first officer, but that would be strictly professional... and platonic, of course. So the probability that he might return my affections is... virtually zero.”_

Spock was unsure why his chest felt as though it were being compressed or why there was a stinging sensation in his sinuses. Chalking it up to the combined effects of lack of sleep and intense concentration taking their toll on him, he drew in a deep breath to counteract the symptoms and forged on.

 _“Is there any benefit to such an admission? I suppose it may encourage him to know that he is capable of inspiring such sentiments... perhaps boost his confidence, which Jim is concerned has sustained long-term damage. Does Nyota also share Jim’s concerns for Leonard? She is very perceptive, so it is not beyond the realm of possibility that she has intuited his lack of confidence — why he has not formed any romantic attachments in... eight years, if Jim’s calculations are correct. And for a man of such deep emotions, loneliness and sadness must feel that much greater,”_ Spock realized. _“It is no wonder that he is so fond of alcohol! For Humans it numbs the mind and dulls the senses, an effective way to blunt the effects of emotional pain... even though it solves nothing.”_

The bare idea of McCoy being in so much pain formed a hollow ache deep within Spock. Struggling to maintain control, he focused back on the candle’s flame, corralling his stray thoughts.

 _“So then Nyota’s recommendation to share this information with him may be because it is precisely ‘what the doctor ordered’ as far as proving to him that other individuals can and_ do _find him desirable — and not solely for his economic status, since he should realize that such things would not influence my judgment in the least. It would solve the dilemma Jim has of providing evidence to Leonard that he is lovable regardless of his wealth. Of all the people who might express an interest in him, I would be the most unbiased and therefore the most credible. Even if, perhaps, I may be the least... welcome.”_

The stinging in Spock’s sinuses increased, causing his eyes to water, so he pinched the bridge of his nose to stimulate blood flow and ease his muscle tension.

_“Given our history of factious quarrels, he would no doubt be extremely surprised to receive such a confession. Would it cause him to feel awkward around me? Would it decrease his work efficiency while around me... or might he refuse to be in my presence unless absolutely necessary? If he requests to be segregated... of course I will comply. It would be unfair to him to affect his performance in an adverse way, even in the slightest.”_

He countered the increasing pressure behind his eyes by stimulating the nerve bundles in his temples.

_“I must also assure him, if I do inform him of my attraction to him, that I do not expect him to reciprocate — that I have merely stated it as a matter of fact. Perhaps he would find it of psychological interest.... I should record my observations to see how my feelings may change over time, and he would be able to provide valuable insights from a Human perspective. Assuming, of course, that he does not demand that I keep my distance. Although if he does, it would at least decrease the occasions on which we would engage in our customary verbal sparring. Nyota seems to be under the impression that I enjoy it as a challenge, but she is mistaken; it is only the result of proving logic to be superior to blind emotions that I value. However, I have always been concerned that our arguing may appear unprofessional to our crewmates. If such encounters were to subside, it would be beneficial to all of the crew, showing by example that we are each capable of overcoming our differences for the greater good. And I... I should be relieved to be spared from such a frivolous waste of time.”_

Logic dictated that this was true, even if the prospect of no longer having those repartees did not bring any sense of relief or satisfaction to Spock at the moment.

 _“Not that Leonard has ever been malicious in his teasing,”_ he thought, defending the doctor without consciously choosing to do so. _“I never allowed his words to hurt me, of course, but... he has never said anything cruel or untrue simply for the sake of being hurtful — unlike my fellow students on Vulcan. While they attempted to illicit emotional responses from me as proof that I was inferior to them, for Leonard it seems to be... more a matter of amusement... or entertainment. It’s a challenge, of sorts, to break down my self-discipline. Any weakness I might display would be considered a type of conquest, I suppose. But often his accusations are no more than a statement of fact, and even his favorite epithet for me, ‘green-blooded hobgoblin,’ is more amusing than disparaging.”_

Spock had overheard that particular phrase when McCoy had first muttered it; his hypersensitive ears had picked it up from across the bridge. However, he had had to look up what a “hobgoblin” was much later, after the chaos of that devastating battle had settled and he had mourned the loss of his mother, his home planet, and most of its inhabitants for a while. What he had found on the subject had left him mildly confused — in some cases the hobgoblin was a helpful creature, performing household chores while its human host family slept, but it was also described as capricious and mischievous, neither of which (Spock was quite certain) were apt descriptors of himself. He had concluded that the only similarity between him and the legendary being was their pointed ears and, having been referred to as “devil” and “demon” for the same feature, all in all he was not offended by the doctor’s chosen appellation.

 _“At any rate, it would be better for discipline and morale if we could avoid such confrontations altogether,”_ Spock thought firmly, quashing any wistfulness over the loss of hearing McCoy’s colorful and creative tirades. _“Is it possible that an admission of my affection for him might lead to an actual improvement in our work relationship? Could it perhaps lessen some of his irritability toward me to realize that I bear no ill will toward him but rather quite the opposite? Even if he does not welcome or encourage my attraction to him, there is a good chance that knowing of it may ease the tension between our differing temperaments — a significant benefit to consider in deciding whether to inform him or not._

_“So then, what might some of the disadvantages be? If he wishes to maintain a distance from me, that would be... a personal loss, but for myself only; for crew discipline it would be a benefit. Any discomfort Leonard might feel, I would do all in my power to alleviate. I could, perhaps, enlist the captain’s aid in allaying any concerns Leonard might have... although it is likely that Leonard would go to Jim himself, considering their close friendship. Yes, indubitably, if I inform Leonard, he would inform the captain in turn. Which is as it should be, since Jim is the commanding officer of us both.”_

A telltale warm flush crept up Spock’s cheeks for the second time today.

 _“It is not something to be embarrassed about,”_ Spock thought furiously, _“regardless of how much Jim will_ most assuredly _tease me about it. He is not malicious in his humor, either. After some time has passed with no new developments, his attention will be drawn elsewhere... with perhaps only the occasional gibe as the opportunity presents itself. That is nothing I cannot withstand. And Leonard himself is too kind and compassionate to use my attraction for him to inflict pain. Even though he is not particularly fond of me, he was concerned for my physical wellbeing as much as he would have been for any other crew member. In addition, his own experience — losing his wife’s affections while he still loved her — would make him more sympathetic than most others. I have nothing to fear in that regard.”_

Spock caught himself and abruptly sat upright.

_“I should not fear anything at all! Fear is only a... debilitating emotion if one allows it to be. Even if Leonard were to callously mock me for my helpless attraction to him (though he would never), I should not fear it. Even if Jim were to broadcast it to the entire crew and make a spectacle out of me (which I doubt), I should not fear it. No, of course — with so many potential benefits, it is clear that I must inform Leonard and... ‘let the chips fall where they may.’”_

However, Spock’s body chose that moment to rebel against him in full force. His heart thumped louder than ever before, his flush spread to conquer most of his upper body, and his hands — in spite of being steepled together — began to tremble.

 _“Why am I reacting this way? Is it embarrassment? But it feels more like anxiety..._ fear _. Why should I fear telling him the truth? The outcome — his response — is clear. There is no logical reason to fear it or anything else. He will be surprised, possibly flattered, and perhaps there will be some awkwardness for a while. But eventually he should grow accustomed to the concept and, finding that I will never do anything to make him uncomfortable, he should move beyond it. In fact if it works well in restoring his confidence, he may even become receptive to dating the women Jim wishes to introduce to him.”_

A sudden surge of heat engulfed Spock, momentarily overwhelming his senses. When he grew calm enough to assess himself, he discovered that his emotions had grown so turbulent as to throw off his tightly held control. And at the surface of that roiling sea was the throbbing, pulsing green fury that he had sensed often in others but never to such an extent in himself before: _ENVY-JEALOUSY-ENVY-RAGE_.

He had barely begun to contain that maelstrom when his alarm notified him to report for duty.


	12. Symptomatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to AndrogynousClintBarton who encourages me to write more angst! XD

Spock hastily prepared to return to duty, the majority of his efforts going to calm his tempestuous emotions.

 _“I will not be jealous over Leonard... I will not be jealous of any woman who captures his affections... I will not be upset by his pursuing a relationship with somebody else... I will not...”_ he repeated in his mind while combing his hair more than was necessary. He continued his mantra as he walked out of his quarters and his building, paused to take the site-to-site transporter, then rode the turbolift up to the offices shared by the quasi-marooned Enterprise crew. Though he tried to ignore extraneous thoughts, he had to admit relief over the fact that Uhura would be going to see her counselor now so their paths would not cross. At least until tomorrow.

Once at his desk, he attacked the reports submitted for his review as though intending to make up for his two lost hours in one. The captain’s summary that all of the reports were of normal progress was not entirely correct, but even at his furious pace, Spock was able to catch the problematic ones and follow them up with alternate orders. Half an hour in, he took a break to get some hot tea at the replicator station and looked out over the rows of desks while tasting his first few sips. Over half of the remaining crew had opted to take their leave time now, which made sense not only since they had no ship but also since they’d been in space for over three years. In addition, many wished to spend time with family and friends to recover from the trauma of their capture on Altamid. So it was a very small remnant indeed who occupied the large space. Each duty station had a sound-buffering shield around it to prevent any distractions, but the clear barriers allowed an unobstructed view of the entire room. Spock could name each of the officers present — as well as those who would never return.

 _“We are fortunate to still have our captain,”_ Spock thought as he saw Jim walking out of the turbolift, returning from somewhere. _“And I am fortunate that Leonard made it out alive... despite having to fly in that ‘death trap’ again. I should be glad just to know he is safe. I must not desire any more. I will not ask for more.”_

He returned to his desk with renewed resolve. The tea had also seemed to soothe his frayed nerves. He was not even startled when Jim clapped him on the shoulder.

“You okay to be back here?” Jim asked quietly, taking care to stay within the buffer around Spock’s desk.

“Perfectly,” Spock answered with confidence. “Please forgive me for any concern I may have caused.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jim said, smiling and patting his back before going over to his own desk where a yeoman had just arrived with a stack of PADDS.

Spock glanced up to see him chatting with the pretty young woman, which was not surprising. However, it reminded Spock that the captain was still hoping to find a good match for Dr. McCoy. For a second it took all of Spock’s considerable self-discipline to keep his burst of jealousy under control. He pressed a hand to his temple, hiding his face behind a PADD with another.

 _“This is... unacceptable,”_ he scolded himself. _“I should be happy for Leonard if he can find someone who can cure his loneliness! I must move past this illogical desire to possess that which I cannot have.”_

Taking a deep breath, Spock schooled his face into a neutral expression and pretended to read the PADD.

 _“I should inform Leonard of my attraction to him at the earliest opportunity, then accept his dismissal with grace. Perhaps I could ask him to join me for dinner... but not at a restaurant — that would be too public. Possibly my quarters? I could prepare some simple Terran dishes... or would that seem too intimate? As though I am expecting him to requite my feelings? Then of course_ his _quarters would be too presumptuous.... Perhaps his office? I could bring in a meal as I did last night. Yes, that would be perfect. I will call him sometime... tomorrow, possibly the day after, to set up a time that would be convenient for him.”_

With the matter settled in his own mind, Spock returned his focus to the reports. There were few anomalies, so he skimmed through them swiftly and did not notice when the time had passed the top of the next hour. In fact he was so engrossed in his work that he did not hear the angry footsteps approaching outside his buffer.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” a familiar voice growled behind him, making him start. “First you skip two duty hours, then you think you can make them up all at once?”

“Doctor McCoy,” Spock replied thickly, his mouth as dry as a Vulcan desert, while his chair was turned around by none other. “I—I thought it might be permissible, since—”

“Well, that shows what thought did for you,” McCoy snapped. “You’re off of restricted duty starting tomorrow, but I’ve got half a mind to extend it for another week!”

“Surely that isn’t necessary,” Spock remonstrated, trying to sound reasonable and not petulant. “I only intended to be here two hours. The other hour I will make up tomorrow... after another hour break, if you insist.”

“What I insist on is that people take my directions seriously! It’s bad enough that Jim flouts my warnings; I sure as hell don’t need _you_ to set a bad example as well.”

Spock might have bristled at McCoy’s words if he could not sense the powerful waves of _WORRY-WORRY-CONCERN-CONCERN_ emanating from the doctor. He was also somewhat distracted to see McCoy wearing his hospital whites, which looked incongruous in the Starfleet office — and extremely dapper.

“I am... very sorry, Doctor, if I caused you any concern,” Spock began, his tone contrite, while McCoy began scanning him with his medical tricorder. “But I do believe I am well enough to review these reports.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” was the gruff reply. “Your heartrate is higher than normal and even your blood pressure is elevated enough to register on this thing. I saw that Jim had authorized your leave earlier today, which is fine, but he didn’t answer my messages asking what had happened. And then I see that you logged in to work last hour, only to overstay! What the hell is going on?”

Finding himself the object of McCoy’s piercing gaze, Spock struggled to string some coherent words together.

“I, uh... I am fine, Doctor, just... somewhat... distracted,” he managed.

 _“‘Distracted’?”_ McCoy echoed. “Since when does that affect your logical Vulcan mind?”

“I... happen to have... a lot of things... _issues_... on my mind,” Spock answered, deliberately trying to be vague.

McCoy squinted at him, his scowl softening a little. “What kind of things? Like your future self dying?”

Spock considered this and nodded, adding, “Among others.”

“And this is causing enough stress to affect your heart and blood pressure?” he demanded, starting to run his tricorder again on different settings. “Spock... if it was bothering you so much, why didn’t you tell me last night? I know I was drunk off my ass, but I would’ve shut up and just _listened_ if you needed to vent.”

“I had not... considered it... necessary,” Spock replied, eyeing the tricorder sensor as McCoy ran it all around his body. It helped to look at something other than the doctor’s face, which was now focused on the readouts.

“Well, I know you can’t get drunk, so it’s not a hangover,” he began, possibly choosing to use deduction since it was a logical method even Spock would approve of. “Your injuries have healed up fine, so they’re not causing any adverse effects. Have you had any heart palpitations?”

“No palpitations, although... my heartrate has been elevated for some time now.”

“Since when?”

“This afternoon... possibly this morning.”

Scowling again, McCoy did another pass with the tricorder. “Any shortness of breath?”

“Ah... some constriction of the chest,” Spock admitted.

“Any other symptoms?”

“Some... slight pain in the sinuses... and temples.”

“Sounds like a classic case of tension headache,” McCoy said thoughtfully. “How long does it last?”

“Just occasional flashes... not long at all.”

“Hmm. But it was bad enough that you took off two duty hours this morning?”

“Oh, no, that was... that was before.... That is, most of the symptoms appeared this afternoon, when I was attempting to meditate.”

McCoy scrunched his face in bewilderment. “Well, that’s not helpful! Meditation is exactly what you _should_ be doing to relieve stress. But then, why did you take off this morning?”

“I, ah...” Spock started, then turned to his station and increased the power level of his sound buffer. A low hum crackled over the outer surface, indicating that anything they said inside would be virtually inaudible outside. “I was... distracted enough... that I lost track of the time. You see...” — he swallowed, wishing his throat were not so parched — “Lieutenant Uhura and I have... decided to part ways... again.”

“Dammit, Spock!” McCoy exclaimed, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “Why didn’t you say something yesterday?”

“It only happened this morning,” Spock explained.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. No wonder you’re so stressed. Do you think if I gave you some time off, you’d be able to pull your shit back together again? You don’t have to do it alone, though, if you think it might help to talk to a counselor.”

“I do not believe... that would be helpful. It would not change the facts of the matter at all.”

“No, but it might change your _outlook_ on the facts. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?” McCoy said, adding, “ _You’re_ the one who talked _me_ into going, weren’t you? Or was that just a figment of my drunken imagination?”

Spock opened his mouth to reply, then hesitated, reminded that the doctor believed much of what had happened last night — when they had been together — was a hallucination.

“No, Doctor, you did not imagine that,” he stated calmly, although his chest felt like it was being squeezed. “I certainly appreciate... the benefits to be gained from....”

“What is it?” McCoy asked, having noted the slight shadow of pain that had crossed Spock’s face. He switched the tricorder settings rapidly. “Are you feeling tightness in your chest again?”

“Yes,” Spock confessed, growing more concerned now that he noticed the frequency of the symptoms.

“Let’s get you to the hospital and run a full battery of tests, just in case it’s something other than stress,” McCoy said, putting his tools away in his satchel. “Call me biased, but I can’t believe a little thing like _emotions_ could affect you this much.”

“I must concur,” Spock agreed, slowly standing up from the chair and straightening his uniform. Catching some movement out of the corner of his eye, he looked over to see Jim waving his hands wildly outside the barrier.

“Hey, guys — what’s going on?” he asked as soon as the buffer was shut off. “You two look too serious.”

“Dammit, Jim, you know that’s covered under doctor-patient confidentiality,” McCoy pointed out. “If I think it’s going to affect his work performance, I’ll let you know. For right now I need to take him with me to run some tests.”

“Oh, God! It’s not serious, is it?”

“I hope not, but I won’t know until I run those tests,” McCoy not-so-subtly hinted, then placed a hand on the small of Spock’s back to move him toward the turbolift.

The sudden influx of _WORRY-WORRY-WORRY_ flooded Spock’s consciousness and overpowered him; the next moment he found his body held up by both of the other men and the volume of _WORRY-WORRY-WORRY_ beating into his mind had doubled — perhaps even tripled.

“Spock! Can you hear me?” McCoy asked, pulling open the Vulcan’s eyelids to check his pupils.

Spock chuckled in response, since the doctor’s concern was about the _only_ thing he could hear right now.

“Yes,” he gasped as he attempted to support himself. The ceiling seemed to be spinning. “I believe I am suffering from vertigo as well.”

“Fuck! He’s in bad shape,” McCoy spat out, directed at Jim. “I gotta get him to the hospital _now!_ Order an emergency site-to-site transport for me.” So saying, he took Spock’s full weight and hoisted him over one shoulder while Jim barked the orders into the comm. A moment later the familiar swirl of energy enveloped them, and then they were deposited in an emergency bay. “I need a full diagnostic scan run on him! Vulcan male, presenting with vertigo, delirium, increased heartrate and blood pressure, some indication of tension headaches,” he announced to the room, setting off a whirlwind of activity.

As soon as McCoy had deposited him on the biobed and ceased touching him directly, Spock felt his sanity returning; however, he thought it best to have the tests run, as the doctor had said, to rule out any serious diseases. He could not help noticing that McCoy looked very handsome as he directed the emergency medical team — clearly in his element — with his whole attention focused on Spock and his mysterious malady. When Spock’s cheeks and ears involuntarily flushed, McCoy swore up a blue streak.

“Dammit! Now he’s fucking got a goddam _fever_ ,” he snarled to nobody in particular before picking up a hypospray.

Whatever he injected into Spock had the blessed effect of allowing him to sleep through the chaos.


	13. Awakening

Spock woke to the sound of a whispered conversation, feeling drowsy but peaceful.

“All right — call me if you need anything,” he thought he heard Jim say, then a door closed. The deep sigh that followed was accompanied by a faint wave of _WORRY-WORRY-CONCERN_ which he recognized as McCoy’s.

“D—Doc—tor,” he mumbled, noticing that his mouth was dry and had a strange metallic taste.

“Spock! I’m right here,” McCoy answered, moving closer. “How are you feeling?”

“Thirsty,” Spock croaked.

McCoy pressed a button to raise the head of the biobed, then placed a straw to his lips. “Here you are.”

Taking grateful sips of the water, Spock willed his eyes to open. Seeing McCoy’s concerned face close to his own made his heartrate increase, in turn causing McCoy to glance up at the readouts and frown. However, Spock was not assaulted by intense feelings like he had before, despite their proximity. The _WORRY-WORRY-CONCERN_ felt muted somehow.

“Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You sure gave us a turn there, Spock,” McCoy told him quietly. “The worst part is, I still don’t know what’s ailing you. All the tests came back negative — there’s no physical cause for your symptoms... and yet, there they are.”

“No physical cause...” Spock slowly repeated. “But that is a good thing, is it not?”

“It is... except that there’s no explanation for what’s happening. The only other factor is psychological... which is more difficult to cure.” McCoy pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down before continuing. “The good news is, you don’t have any brain tumors, Bendii Syndrome, or Pa’nar Syndrome. So the only conclusion I can come to is that this breakup with Uhura, combined with Ambassador Spock’s passing, is affecting you enough to cause physical symptoms.”

“I see,” Spock replied. “That is... quite logical. And thorough. I am impressed... that you thought to check for those diseases.”

“Well, at least in the case of Bendii, you’re too young to be a candidate for it, but then again you’re not a typical Vulcan, are you?” McCoy’s attempt to smile came out strained. “You’re one of a kind. Which makes you damn unique, but it also means I have no cases to compare this with.”

“I regret that I present such a challenge, Doctor,” Spock said without sarcasm. “But since you have ruled out a physical cause, I can analyze the psychological myself. If there is no abnormality in my brain functions, I should be able to control my emotions — and, thereby, my symptoms.”

“It’s not that easy, Spock... not even for you,” McCoy pointed out. “The fact is, you haven’t been able to.” He paused before asking, “Spock... is it possible... that after time, your Human traits are... getting stronger? That you might be feeling your emotions more because the Human side of you is trying to take over?”

“It is possible,” he conceded, “but doubtful. Although, as you say, since I am the first of my kind, there is no way to know. What I _can_ assure you is that Vulcan emotions run deeper than Human emotions, meaning that if my Human side were to assert dominance, my emotions would be _less_ violent, if anything. The major difference would be my inability to control them.”

“Huh.” McCoy rubbed his forehead. “So Vulcans feel... more intensely than Humans?”

“Yes. Which is why it was vital to master our emotions.” Spock shifted, trying to sit up, and found his movements were sluggish. When McCoy jumped up to help him, his heartrate increased again along with the _WORRY-WORRY-CONCERN_ which was communicated through their contact. Spock noticed the doctor was avoiding touching his skin, but even through his clothes Spock knew he should be feeling McCoy’s emotions more loudly. “Thank you. Doctor, did you inject me with a tranquilizer?”

“Uh, yeah — just a mild sedative with a muscle relaxant. You might feel a bit hazy for a while.”

“Ah. That would explain it.” He took another drink of the water. “How long was I unconscious?”

“Couple of hours. Actually,” McCoy checked his watch, “make that four. Okay, I might’ve overdone it with the sedative, but I needed to stabilize your vitals. Are you hungry? You must be, since I had an energy bar a while ago and I’m still starving. I’ll go grab something from the replicator. What’re you in the mood for?”

Spock did not bother to tell him that he did not have moods, especially since he seemed to have been at the mercy of his emotions for the past few days.

“I would appreciate some hot soup. I feel somewhat dehydrated.”

“Oh, yeah — that’s a side effect of the sedative. I’ll be right back.” McCoy turned to look at him again from the doorway. “Don’t go anywhere! Doctor’s orders,” he declared, half-joking, though the effect was ruined by the crease between his brows belying his concern.

“Of course,” Spock answered, lying back as he was left alone in the room. The lights of Yorktown had been dimmed for its simulated nightfall, allowing him to see some of the stars beyond its sphere.

 _“So it seems I have fallen prey — increasingly, as time progresses — to my irrational emotions,”_ he pondered. _“All of those symptoms were simply... products of my feelings. Fascinating... and horrifying. I must restore my inner equilibrium. Perhaps a few days’ medical leave would be in order after all. Some meditation and calming exercises should help. And I must tell Leonard the true cause of my agitation... so that I may begin exorcising it.”_

The tell-tale beeping of the biobed monitor indicated that Spock’s heartrate had increased again. He needed no medical equipment to tell him that his breathing was constricted, this time not only by a tightness in the chest but also by what felt like a large blockage in his throat. His eyes stung with tears which he refused to shed.

 _“This is illogical! And pointless,”_ he thought furiously. _“Weeping and gnashing my teeth will make no difference in the situation, and if I do not control these physical symptoms, they will only make Leonard worry more. I must control them... calm them... rein them in....”_

The beeping of the monitor gradually receded as Spock forced his mind to overcome his heart. He drew in deep, cleansing breaths and pushed his feelings as deep down as possible.

 _“There, that is better. From here on I will make all of my decisions logically. In fact,”_ he realized, glancing around, _“if Leonard can spare the time, I should tell him now — here, in the privacy of this recovery room — and get it over with. It is part of my medical diagnosis, after all; he will of course keep it confidential, and he will also know that my imbalance was not caused simply because my relationship with Nyota has ended.”_ A faint trace of irritation threatened to disturb his coerced tranquility. _“I may be struggling with my emotions, but I am not so weak as to be utterly upset by an amicable separation. It was caused by an unfortunate combination of factors: the death of my future self; my guilt over abandoning Nyota in her time of need, no matter how inadvertently; and my sudden and profound attraction to Leonard — something I had never experienced before. Any one of these factors, taken alone, could not have unsettled me to this degree.”_

The door opened and McCoy stepped in with two stacked trays.

“The replicator here isn’t programmed for plomeek soup, so I hope tomato soup is okay,” he said apologetically while setting one tray on the over-bed table. “The fruit salad should help with your electrolytes. You also need protein, so I got you a tofu-hummus sandwich in a pita. It’s bland but easily digestible.”

“Thank you, Doctor. That sounds quite appetizing.”

“I saw your vitals spike again while I was gone. How are you feeling?”

“I am feeling... better. As you can see, my readings have returned to normal. Once I knew those symptoms were caused by my emotions, I was able to regulate them.”

“Just like that?” McCoy asked, incredulous, as he sat down with his own tray of soup and a turkey sandwich.

“Just like that,” Spock affirmed, picking up his spoon. “Being Vulcan... does have its advantages.”

“I guess,” McCoy said wryly before taking a bite. Spock followed suit and found his unexpected meal selections to be delicious. When he told McCoy, the doctor grinned in genuine pleasure, dazzling Spock for a split second and threatening to elevate his heartrate again. Spock forced himself to objectively observe the other man’s features and noted that while the smile relieved the severity of McCoy’s expression, it also revealed how exhausted he was.

“I must apologize for keeping you here until such a late hour,” Spock stated. “I am... unspeakably embarrassed... since it could have been avoided altogether... had I only realized what was causing it.”

“Ah, don’t worry, Spock,” McCoy said with a dismissive wave of one hand. “I was dying of boredom in all those meetings today. I ought to thank you for getting me out of the last one — the chief of the surgery department can be really long-winded.”

As they ate, McCoy asked Spock a few questions about the progress on the new Enterprise and Spock asked McCoy about the hospital’s work. When they occasionally lapsed into silence, it was companionable.

“Well, that hit the spot,” McCoy said, tossing his napkin on the tray. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you — that was more than adequate,” Spock said, then hesitated before starting, “However, if I may... ask a favor....”

“What? Name it,” McCoy answered while collecting Spock’s tray.

“Please feel free to refuse — I realize you must be tired from a long day — but I wonder if I might impose on your time for a while longer.”

“Sure, no problem.” He threw the trays into the recycling chute. “Tomorrow’s my day off, anyway.”

“Oh. I am glad to hear it.” Spock felt a flush creeping over his neck and spreading up his cheeks as his body reacted to what he was about to do. It did not help matters when McCoy pulled his chair even closer to the bed and elevated the seat so he would be at Spock’s eye level. The heartrate monitor started beeping its alarm in spite of his best efforts to remain calm.

“You’re spiking again — are you all right?”

“Yes, about that...” Spock began as he felt his body careen out of control. He was fidgeting with the blanket on his lap without realizing it, avoiding meeting McCoy’s concerned gaze. “There is no reason to worry, Doctor. Since you have proven that there are no physiological issues, I am reasonably certain as to what the psychological cause is.”

“Yeah? Well, you’ve obviously had a lot on your mind. I mean, being faced with your own mortality — first with you future self dying and then almost getting punctured in the heart yourself — it would be enough to send _anybody_ around the bend.”

“Perhaps... but those things alone... or even in tandem with my relationship with Miss Uhura ending... would not account for the total lack of control I have been experiencing.”

McCoy reached over to the monitor and pressed some buttons, turning off the incessant alarms.

“So what else is going on?” he asked gently. His waves of _WORRY-WORRY-CONCERN_ were growing stronger; Spock thought that with the ingestion of food, the effects of the sedative might be wearing off.

“There was a reason... a _significant_ reason... why Lieutenant Uhura and I decided to part ways,” Spock started, still staring unseeingly at his own hands. “You see... as embarrassing as it is to admit... and as unintentional as it was... I seem to have... ‘fallen in love’... with someone else.”

He sensed McCoy’s worry turn to shock.

“Wow.... Well, no wonder she wanted to break up. But you’re saying you didn’t mean to?”

“No,” Spock answered, feeling somewhat faint due to his heart beating rapidly. “I... I never intended... to hurt Nyota like that... but it was ... unavoidable.... It simply _happened_.”

“Oh, God, Spock,” McCoy said, then gusted out a sigh. “It happens... I know. Love... just isn’t logical.”

“Apparently not,” Spock agreed in a small voice. “I find myself... overwhelmed by it. My orderly life has been thrown into chaos because of it. And yet I cannot deny it.”

“Yeah... sounds about right.” There was a heavy silence before McCoy added, “This is about the time I would offer you a stiff drink.”

“It would serve no purpose with my metabolism,” Spock replied.

“More’s the pity.” McCoy waited until his curiosity won out. “So, if you don’t mind my asking... who’s the lucky lady that managed to steal you from Uhura?”

“It’s... not a lady.”

“Oh?” McCoy sounded intrigued. “A tramp, then?”

Spock shook his head. “A man.”

“Oh!” The shockwave was palpable. “Spock, I had no idea....”

“Neither did I.”

“Oh! God, that must’ve been.... No wonder it’s thrown you for a loop!”

“Indeed.” Spock sighed, knowing he was only delaying the inevitable. “I... hardly know how to explain it.”

“Well, you know Jim,” McCoy said in an encouraging tone. “He might tease you for a bit, but he doesn’t mean any harm. He might even take you up on your offer!”

“I beg your pardon?” Spock asked, looking up at last.

“I mean, sure, he’s dated women pretty exclusively since I’ve known him,” McCoy explained, “but he did mention fooling around with one of his schoolmates when he was drunk, so, you know, it could happen.”

“I—I don’t... I d—didn’t mean,” Spock stammered, feeling as though the space station’s artificial gravity had suddenly been repolarized under him.

“Aww, Spock, it’s not like you had to spell it out,” McCoy said with a lopsided grin. “I know you and Jim have had a special bond — ever since you marooned him and he came back for more! You’ve always made a great team. Besides, half the population that meets him has the same reaction: one look at those neon-blue eyes and you’re a goner. I try not to look him in the eye too much, myself.”

“No, no! You don’t understand,” Spock protested, his heartrate skyrocketing and his hands trembling. “It’s not Jim! It’s... It’s _you_... Leonard....”

A second shockwave hit Spock, but this one was more of confusion and bewilderment.

“What?” McCoy said, slack-jawed.

Spock licked his lips — which had become dry again — before repeating, “It’s _you_ , Leonard.... I can’t stop... thinking about you. Just being near you... elevates my heartrate.”

McCoy’s lips twitched a couple of times, then he finally asked, _“Me?”_

“Yes! _You_.” Spock felt a surge of relief at having verbalized it. “Nyota suspected it first, and she was correct. I have been acting irrationally around you, and further analysis of the evidence proved it: I am in love with you.”

McCoy stared at Spock for a long moment, openmouthed, before seeming to recollect himself.

“Spock... did Jim put you up to this?”

“Wh—What?”

“Did Jim put you up to this?” McCoy demanded. “He must’ve blackmailed you... or maybe he convinced you that it’d be a great prank. Yeah, that’s what this is, isn’t it? Just a great, practical _joke!_ ”

Spock could not understand why McCoy had stood up and turned his back to him, fists clenched; he had no idea why there were great, searing-hot waves of anger rolling off of the Human, staggering in their intensity.

“Leonard?” Spock whispered, his heart pounding in his throat. The waves of rage crashed all around him, through him, filling the room. “Leonard,” Spock called again, “please, Jim had nothing to do with this! He had no knowledge of... of how I feel.” The reverberating waves of anger lessened somewhat, resolving into powerful storm surges of _HURT-HURT-ANGER-SADNESS_ , but they had already eroded Spock’s own tentatively controlled emotions. He had been prepared for outright refusal, polite condescension, even active avoidance — but not this. He was weeping before he knew it, great tears blurring his vision and rolling down his cheeks as he struggled to deal with two sets of conflicting emotions.

“Is that what he told you to say?” McCoy asked, his tone calm but with an icy edge. _SUSPICION_ emanated from him like a cold blast.

“What? No!” Spock responded, gasping for air. “He had... nothing to do... with this! He knew... _nothing!_ ”

Hearing the distress in Spock’s voice, McCoy turned back to face him and was shocked anew by what he saw.

“Spock! What the hell... What’s the matter?” _WORRY-WORRY-CONCERN_ rapidly replaced the earlier turbulence as McCoy drew close.

“I... do not ask... that you return... my affection,” Spock managed, “but I... had hoped... you would... at least... _believe_ me.”

“I do! I do. I’m sorry,” McCoy told him, sitting on the edge of the bed to embrace him. _SORRY-SORRY-HEAL-FIX_ washed over Spock, but instead of soothing him, the sudden shift in feelings shook loose his emotional moorings, causing him to cry even more. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” McCoy repeated, holding Spock closer and tighter, not bothering to avoid touching his skin. _SORRY-SORRY-HEAL-SORRY-SORRY-FIX_ poured out of the doctor at full volume without any mitigating effect from the sedative.

Now that the tempest of feelings from McCoy had settled into a predictable pattern, Spock was able to assess the situation logically. He found that his hurt from being disbelieved was fading under the doctor’s sincere desire to undo what damage he had inflicted; he also realized that McCoy’s anger had not been directed at him, or it would not have been so easily subjugated to his caring. Most important of all, Spock was able to recognize that he was being held against McCoy’s muscular chest and he liked it very much — even though it meant his heartrate was still elevated, leaving him lightheaded. In fact he wanted to stay there forever.

“Shhh... I’m sorry... I’m so sorry,” McCoy murmured into Spock’s hair. “Dammit, Spock, I didn’t mean to hurt you! I would never hurt you... not on purpose....”

McCoy’s hands cradled Spock’s neck and head as McCoy pressed his lips to Spock’s forehead. White balls of crackling lightning burst out of those contact points and sped across Spock’s body to dissipate off his toes.

 _“Fascinating,”_ he thought, then he clutched the doctor’s uniform tightly with both hands.


	14. Perceptions

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry...” McCoy repeated like a mantra until Spock’s sobs subsided. Then he continued to hold him, as if at a loss for what else he could do to fix a broken Vulcan. His overwhelming emotions of _WORRY- WORRY-HEAL-HEAL_ were becoming intermixed with _DOUBT-DOUBT-UNCLEAR-UNSURE_ , which ultimately gave Spock the incentive to pull himself out of the comfort of McCoy’s arms to face him — as well as his fears.

“Leonard,” he said, wishing his voice didn’t sound so strange from his nose being congested, “why did you not believe me? I have never deliberately deceived you....”

“I know, I’m sorry, I should’ve known better,” McCoy hurried to tell him, his face flushed red. “It’s just... well, you’re the last person I ever expected to... hear that sort of thing from.”

“I admit it may seem... unusual... out of character, perhaps... but I assure you, I would never state a blatant lie about such things... or say them in jest.”

“No, of course not! _You_ would never... I know. But... see, I thought Jim had somehow convinced you — made you think it would be a good idea to, y’know, to... go along with him... or something....”

Spock cocked his head slightly in puzzlement. “But I informed you that Jim had nothing to do with it.”

“Yeah... yeah, you did,” McCoy agreed, then let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “But the thing is, Jim’s been teasing me... for some time now... that I’ve... ahh... got a _thing_ for you. And he was here earlier, saying I could kiss you to wake you up, that you’d never know, that sort of thing.... He’d also approved your leave this morning but never called me back to tell me why, so I knew he’d been talking to you and... I’m sorry, I jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

Spock startled both of them by hiccupping.

“Aw, Spock — I’m so sorry. Just... God! Please don’t cry anymore,” McCoy pleaded as he pulled Spock close again and rubbed his back. _HEAL-HEAL-HEAL_ flooded over Spock’s consciousness in billows, seeping into all of the fragile cracks that had formed in his heart and soothing the pain away. Spock closed his eyes and leaned into McCoy’s warmth, feeling small sparks form where his forehead grazed the doctor’s stubbled jaw. The tingling sensations were not unpleasant.

“I am... fine now,” he said, tentatively assessing his own sea of emotions. “I do not believe I am in imminent danger of succumbing to... base sentimentality.”

“Well, good,” McCoy replied, still not letting go of him. “Because dammit, if I can’t make you feel better, I’ll have to cry _with_ you.”

A slow smile spread across Spock’s lips as he imagined the hypothetical scenario. “That would not be helpful to either of us.”

“No... I suppose not.”

There was a long moment in which Spock was content to simply _exist_ as he was, held in the arms of the one man who had caused such unprecedented and unexpected reactions in him — and, ironically, had also created a calm and peacefulness in him with only a few words and some gentle touches. He did not want to move; he did not want this moment to end.

“So...” McCoy broke the silence, dragging out the vowel, “you’re a... touch empath... right?”

“Yes.” Spock realized that McCoy’s heartrate was elevated — he could feel it throbbing where their bodies were in contact.

“So that means... you can tell what I’m feeling... right now?”

“Yes.” Spock frowned as he paid more attention to those feelings and noticed a distinct change. _WORRY-WORRY-NERVOUS-FEAR-EMBARRASSED_ now dominated what had been soothing before. “What is it you are so concerned about?” he asked.

There was a brief hitch in McCoy’s voice as he said, “Letting you know.”

“Know... what?” Spock prompted, confused.

“You mean you can’t tell?”

“I’m afraid I do not know what you are referring to.” Spock straightened to put some space between them so he could look the doctor in the eye. “Perhaps it would help to clarify that I can only sense feelings — _emotions_ , not thoughts — unless I form a connection with your mind in what is called a ‘mind meld.’ So while I can feel what you are feeling, it is not as though I can ‘read your mind’ merely by touching you.”

“Oh.” McCoy digested this information, then mumbled, “Shit.”

“I’m sorry?” Spock responded, worried at the _DISAPPOINTED-NERVOUS-FEAR_ he now sensed.

“Well, I guess I’ve just got to... come out and _say_ it, then.” McCoy licked his lips, swallowed, and shifted so that he was looking at Spock dead on. “Spock, I... well... y’see... Jim was right,” he finally admitted. “I _do_ have a thing for you. Have since... well, almost the first time we met.”

Spock understood enough of Human colloquialisms to recognize what he was saying; however, he dared not trust his own interpretation — not for something so critically important.

“Do you mean.... Are you saying....” His mouth had gone dry yet again, making it difficult to get the words out, and his brain was on the brink of overloading. “You are... _attracted_... to me... as well?”

“Yeah,” McCoy confirmed, looking worried and embarrassed and sheepish and happy all at the same time. “Yeah, I am.”

“From... the first time... we met?” Spock asked in amazement.

“Yeah.” His ruddy face had turned a deep red and his breathing seemed to be labored; however, his roiling emotions had settled down, leaving them both drifting on an ocean of relative tranquility.

“I... had no idea,” Spock said, studying McCoy’s face as though it were the most fascinating thing he had ever beheld. “You never gave any indication... at least, none that I could tell.”

“Well, of course not!” he snorted. “You were with Uhura already.”

“Nyota... yes,” Spock murmured, realizing something. “She had thought... you might be pleased... ‘pleasantly surprised’ were her exact words... to be informed of my feelings. It seems she was correct in this also.”

“Damn,” McCoy said without rancor. “That woman’s too smart, that’s for sure! I mean, I tried — I did my level best not to let on, but... sometimes I’d catch her staring at me and wonder... if I’d let something slip.”

Spock felt sadness squeeze his chest. “Leonard... all these years?” he gasped out.

“Yeah... pretty much. I mean, at first I thought you were the most cold-blooded bastard ever hatched in the galaxy... but then Jim proved that you actually do _feel_ stuff, you just _bury_ it better than the rest of us... and... I dunno... I guess I could... _relate_ to that.” McCoy hesitantly encircled Spock’s waist with both hands. “Plus it was sort of a challenge, y’know... trying to get you to _admit_ you had feelings... like Jim did, only without all the choking and punching.”

“I see,” Spock said softly, feeling his paradigm shift. It was similar to adjusting the ship’s forward scanners: different things came into focus depending on how you looked at any given area. “You were trying to elicit emotional responses from me... so that you could ‘relate’ better to me — to find common ground, as it were.”

“Well, yeah... you could say that. Although there’ve been times when I really _did_ want to strangle you,” McCoy added. “Like the time you refused to let us get you out of that volcano! Dammit, Spock, did you even think about how it would’ve _hurt_ us to lose you like that? Not just Uhura, who’s a tough cookie but still would’ve been _devastated_ , but Jim, who carries all the weight of command on his shoulders like a dead albatross, and Sulu, who was piloting the shuttle and would’ve blamed himself for not giving you a backup line, and don’t even get me started on Chekov, who looks up to you almost as much as Jim, and Scotty, too—”

“Leonard,” Spock interrupted, gazing deep into his eyes. “You would have missed me?”

“You’re damn right I would have!”

Despite the harshness of his words, all Spock could feel was the _CARE-CARE-PROTECT-PRECIOUS_ that burst from McCoy like solar flares from the sun. And suddenly his vision was distorted by a torrent of tears.

“Dammit, Spock! Don’t fucking _cry_ , for God’s sake!” McCoy sputtered, hugging him close again. It took Spock a few minutes before he could even attempt to speak.

“I am... so happy... and honored,” he explained through his tears. “I... I cannot adequately express... how... how _glad_ I am... to hear you say so.”

McCoy had been radiating _WORRY-HEAL-PRECIOUS-HEAL_ while holding him, but now _RELIEF_ tinged it with warmth and calm. Then the white-hot discharges of electricity started up again, crackling with intensity and rolling off in all directions. Spock wondered if McCoy could feel them as well, but before he could ask, the doctor posed a question to him first.

“So... are you really sure... you’re... y’know... _into_ me? That this isn’t... I dunno, some kind of... alien space virus... or something?”

Spock considered this. “I cannot completely rule out the possibility,” he confessed, “but it seems highly unlikely. You yourself have found no physical irregularities. It is also possible that we bonded, in some unknown way, over the course of our time on Altamid. But if that is the only reason for my attraction to you, it should have begun to fade over time... and yet I find that the opposite is true.”

“Huh. So... you really want to... um... y’know... do this?” McCoy gulped at the unintended double entendre. “I mean... see where this goes?”

“I cannot think of anything else I would rather do,” Spock answered, smiling as a few last tears rolled down his cheeks. He pulled himself away from McCoy’s neck and reached up to touch McCoy’s face, scattering balls of sparks every which way. “Or anybody else I would rather take this journey with. I have always trusted you to provide the best medical care... but I know that I can trust you with my heart as well. And from what I have seen of _your_ heart... it is beautiful.”

McCoy blushed to a deep crimson and seemed to be having trouble meeting Spock’s eyes. “Well, I... uh... I mean... y’know... I couldn’t possibly... that is, um... oh, _damn!_ ” After spitting out that last invective, he regrouped and gripped Spock’s shoulders with purpose. “Dammit all, Spock, I’m gonna kiss you!”

As Spock’s mouth fell open in surprise, McCoy did just that. Hungrily, greedily, forcefully. The white sparks of lightning no longer ran along the surface of Spock’s body but rather _through_ him, penetrating every cell and exploding in nebulae of starbursts that filled his mind’s eye even though his physical eyes were closed. McCoy’s lips were rough and demanding, sparking _LUST-DESIRE-WANT_ in tidal waves which Spock could no longer distinguish as McCoy’s or his own, and his tongue was exploring every nanometer of Spock’s mouth, inviting and challenging him to reciprocate. When Spock gathered enough presence of mind to do so, he was rewarded by being pinned down against the biobed by McCoy’s larger torso while one of the renowned surgeon’s hands tousled his hair and the other held his neck to ensure that their mouths remained in contact at all times. It was sensory overload but Spock did not care. It was the first time he had ever been so manhandled and he realized he _loved_ it.

By the time McCoy finally backed off to catch his breath, Spock’s entire body was trembling, filled with bright showers of dissipating electricity. They both panted as they stared at each other, equal parts disbelief and awe in their mirrored expressions.

“That... was fucking... _amazing_ ,” McCoy declared, his voice hoarse. The heatwave of _LUST-DESIRE-WANT_ coming off of him left Spock in no doubt as to what kind of state he was in; in fact it had already affected Spock in a way that would have been embarrassing if it were not mutual.

“I must... concur,” Spock wheezed. He knew that the prolonged oxygen deprivation combined with his racing heart would cause him to pass out if he tried to get up from the biobed now. He was glad that its back was still angled up so he could see McCoy without having to crane his neck — he wanted to drink in the sight of the doctor, to memorize how his skin was flushed with excitement and his jaw set with determination.

“I was gonna keep you here overnight for observation, but I don’t think I can wait that long.” The glint in McCoy’s eyes was sharp, sending shivers up and down Spock’s spine. “I can have you released now as long as you take two days off for medical leave — ostensibly for ‘rest, relaxation, and meditation.’ Sound like a plan?”

“I will defer to your medical expertise, Doctor,” Spock answered demurely, knowing well enough what the doctor meant. “Am I to assume that you will... _personally_ see to my recovery?”

“You bet your cute little ass I will,” he shot back with a predatory grin. “Do you think you can walk, or should we borrow a wheelchair?”

“I believe I can manage... given some time to... calm myself,” Spock said, feeling extra heat rising to his cheeks. The rumpled blanket covering the lower half of his body was not bulky enough to hide the bulge of his groin.

“Well! Nice to know I’m not the only one saluting here,” McCoy dryly remarked. “I do have a hypospray solution that will take care of it temporarily, but I’d have to reformulate it for your biochemistry.”

“There is no need for that,” Spock insisted before drawing in deep breaths and willing his heart to slow down. He could not help noticing the equally large bulge in the front of McCoy’s uniform trousers that was pushing out the hem of the white tunic, distracting him for a minute, but by the time the doctor had synthesized his solution and injected himself with it, Spock had restored his own iron-willed control over his emotions and body. His rebellious male member was barely a bump. He was fascinated to see that McCoy’s was no longer noticeable, either.

“Let me get these discharge orders written up, then we’ll be free to go,” McCoy muttered, working on a PADD. It gave Spock a moment to admire his profile. McCoy glanced up, caught him staring, and asked, “What?”

“You really are quite handsome,” Spock commented. “Although physical attractiveness is not a priority for my species when choosing potential mates, it is nevertheless agreeable to find someone who is aesthetically pleasing as well as in possession of many admirable qualities.”

McCoy opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut, and at last opened it again to ask, “Spock, are you _sure_ you’re feeling all right? Is there any chance you might’ve caught some weird infection, or... developed a delusional fever?”

“Leonard, if you are implying that I am somehow impaired in my judgment,” Spock replied, sliding off the bed to stand up, “I can assure you that I am entirely correct in my assessment. Furthermore, if you believe that _only_ such an impairment would prompt me to say what is obviously and objectively _true_ ,” he added, stepping close to McCoy until their noses were almost touching, “I must inform you, you are absolutely _wrong_.”

At this proximity, Spock could feel McCoy’s _DOUBT-DOUBT-UNCERTAIN-WORRY_ as plainly as his own heartbeat. When he gazed into his eyes, he could read his hesitation and lack of confidence as well.

 _“This is what Jim was worried about,”_ Spock realized, feeling sad at the illogic of such an attractive man being unable to accept it himself.

“Leonard,” he whispered, “you truly are beautiful... in all the ways that matter.” He could sense McCoy’s emotions being stirred into a tempest as he struggled to reconcile his insecurities with what he was being told. To prevent it from escalating, Spock took another step closer and kissed him — a chaste kiss this time, merely grazing his lips — and was satisfied when the stormy sea within him calmed. There was wonder in McCoy’s eyes when they opened.

“You really... mean that?” he couldn’t help asking.

“I do,” Spock said, allowing a smile to form.

“Wow,” was all McCoy could say. He held Spock for a minute, simply looking at him, before he remembered what they had been planning to do. “Well, uh... shall we go, then?” he asked, blushing again.

“Indeed,” Spock agreed.


	15. Unexpected Pleasures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW from here on out!

McCoy stopped by the nurses’ station for a moment to inform the head nurse that he was releasing Spock. “He’s Vulcan,” he said, as though that explained everything. “He’ll do better in his own healing trance than getting pumped full of drugs here, especially since we don’t even know which drugs will work on him. I’ll see that he gets to his quarters safely and check in on him tomorrow.”

“All right, Doctor, if you’re sure that’s best,” the nurse replied, taking the PADD from him. “But you’re off duty tomorrow, aren’t you?”

McCoy shrugged. “You do what you have to for a shipmate. No rest for the weary.”

Spock noted that the nurse — a rather young woman to be in charge of the ward, even for the night shift — blushed at the grin McCoy gave her before leaving. While it seemed to be proof of the doctor’s attractiveness, Spock felt no compulsion to point it out to him; in fact he was relieved to be leaving the hospital. But as they took the turbolift down to the ground level, he noticed again how exhausted McCoy looked.

“Leonard,” he said quietly, even though they were alone in the turbolift, “if you are too tired for any... _activities_... tonight, I can defer to another time when—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” McCoy demanded, turning to him, incredulous. “I had to self-medicate while ago just so I wouldn’t _explode_ and do something seriously unprofessional in a hospital room, and you want me to fucking _wait_ until I’m not _tired?_ ”

Spock felt the heat of McCoy’s gaze warming his cheeks. “I was... obviously mistaken,” he said, inclining his head in apology. “If you are feeling capable....” The turbolift doors opened so they stepped outside.

“I’m feeling _damn_ capable, thanks, and if I have to spend my entire day off sleeping to recover, so be it,” McCoy huffed under his breath, mindful of the people walking by. “The only question is, your place or mine?”

“I have no preference,” Spock said, falling into step beside him.

“Well, I gotta shower, at least, or I’ll stink like a Denebian slime devil before we’re through. Plus I gotta replicate some _medical supplies_.”

The lifted eyebrow and emphasis McCoy placed on the last term clued Spock in that the supplies in question were not exactly medical in nature. As to what they might be, he could not hazard a guess, but he was confident the doctor knew what he was doing.

“In that case, perhaps I will join you in your quarters after showering also and dressing in something more appropriate.”

McCoy smiled at him, making his heart flutter for a second. “Wear something you can take off quickly.”

Spock struggled to remain composed as they stepped up to the site-to-site transporter.

***

In spite of his best efforts to calm himself, Spock’s heart was racing and his cheeks (and no doubt his ears) were flushed again by the time he took the short walk down the hall from his own quarters to McCoy’s next door. Although there was no reason why he should not enter the chief medical officer’s private rooms for a friendly chat, even at this late hour, he was glad to see the hallway deserted. The door opened as soon as he touched the notification panel, apparently programmed to allow him automatic access. When he stepped inside he realized that the ambient temperature was somewhat elevated; he wondered if McCoy had set it higher than usual to accommodate his Vulcan physiology.

Hearing the buzz of an electric shaver, Spock entered the darkened bedroom to find McCoy standing at his bathroom sink, wrapped only in a towel, lit by bright lights that glittered in the water drops still clinging to his skin and the silver pendant around his neck. He was contorting his face to get the last of the stubble, touching up his sideburns. Spock watched, mesmerized, until McCoy finished and turned to the bedroom. He started when he saw Spock standing there.

“Hey,” he said after catching his breath. “You came.”

“Of course.” Spock tilted his head in concern. “You doubted that I would?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure I’m not hallucinating this right _now_.” McCoy ran his hands through his still-damp hair, leaving wild spikes in their wake. “It’s all... so _surreal_.”

Spock moved closer to him and cupped his newly shaven face in both hands, sensing the _DOUBT-DOUBT-NERVOUS-WORRY_ repeating in his mind. “I assure you this feels quite real to me.”

“Yeah... it does now,” McCoy agreed, then pulled Spock closer by the waist. “I just... I’ve wanted this for so long... I’m scared that I might wake up and find that it’s all been a dream....”

Spock felt a pang of sadness but ignored it to press his lips against McCoy’s. The flash of electricity it generated was weaker than before; however, as their tongues met and tangled in wordless communication, the tingling sensation grew stronger. He felt McCoy’s manhood harden and press against his own, which responded in kind as the waves of _LUST-DESIRE-WANT_ intensified.

“Spock,” McCoy panted, pulling back with a tremendous effort of will, “are you sure you want this? Because this is your last chance to back out... if you’re not sure....”

“I am sure, Leonard.” Spock felt the thrill of anticipation set his senses on heightened alert. “I want to be with you.”

McCoy groaned before groping at Spock’s tunic. “All right, then, how do you get this thing off?”

After Spock showed him how to unlatch the top fasteners, McCoy hastily undid the lower ones, then tossed the garment onto a chair before tackling Spock’s trousers. Spock was forced to grab McCoy’s shoulders as the Human shoved both trousers and underwear down to his shoes, which Spock stepped out of while McCoy — still on his knees — studied the revealed Vulcan penis with combined professional and personal curiosity.

“Not so different after all,” he murmured, gently lifting it with one hand. “The meatus is more circular than a Human’s, but the overall length and girth is comparable. Of course the glans is smaller and almost indistinguishable from the shaft, but it should be just as sensitive—” he paused to lick it with the tip of his tongue, sending a surge of heat and pleasure through Spock “—as ours. And the testes aren’t external.”

“I believe the hotter climate on Vulcan... would have made... external organs... more susceptible... to heat... and... damage,” Spock contributed, gasping for breath as his erection grew harder under the ministrations of McCoy’s nimble tongue.

“Let’s get you more comfortable, sweetheart,” McCoy said with a roguish grin as he fondled Spock with one hand. “Can’t have you passing out, now, can we? I’m supposed to be supervising your ‘rest and recuperation,’ after all.”

Spock gratefully sat down on the bed after McCoy pulled the covers down, then lay back while McCoy turned off the bathroom light, leaving them in approximately twenty percent lighting — bright enough to see each other clearly but dark enough to sleep in without being bothered.

“God! I’ve dreamed of having you here so often,” McCoy said, drinking in the sight of Spock lying naked beneath him. He climbed onto the bed to straddle him and threw off his towel.

“You have?” Spock asked in surprise, his voice coming out in a slightly higher pitch than normal. It may have had something to do with the fact that McCoy’s Human penis was engorged to its fullest extent, curving back to almost touch his belly, leaking pre-come.

“Yeah... just like this,” McCoy breathed. He lowered himself over Spock with care, aligning their bodies as he got down on his hands, then his elbows, until he was lying flush on top of his new lover. He kissed him slowly but thoroughly for a long moment, the contact generating white-hot surges of energy that crackled through Spock and left a residual glow in his mind’s eye. The waves of _LUST-DESIRE-WANT_ were now tempered with _PRECIOUS-PRECIOUS-PROTECT_ , allowing Spock to relax and simply experience what McCoy was doing. And what McCoy seemed intent on doing was to kiss every square nanometer of Spock’s skin.

“So damn perfect,” McCoy murmured as he made his way down Spock’s neck and throat. “Like a beautiful porcelain doll....”

“I can assure you, Leonard,” Spock said, gasping when McCoy mouthed his nipple, “I am far more durable than a ceramic doll... or a Human, for that matter.”

“Good.” McCoy moved further down his body to swirl his tongue inside Spock’s navel. “I’m counting on it!”

Spock’s breath caught in his throat as he felt McCoy rub his penis against his leg, leaving a trail of stickiness behind. The next moment his own penis was enveloped in warm wetness, making all coherent thought impossible. The lightning flashes were not as intense — which would have been a relief had he been able to recognize it — but the sensations assaulting him were enough to render him mindlessly moaning and gasping for air. The wanton sounds escaping him only seemed to spur McCoy on to suck harder, deeper, and longer, taking in almost the entire length of his sizeable penis. Spock did not even realize he had grasped two fistfuls of McCoy’s hair in his ecstasy or that his legs were flailing every time McCoy sucked him off with slurping noises.

When at last McCoy pulled away, gently easing Spock’s fingers out of his hair, Spock was close to drooling from the overwhelming experience. Although Uhura had performed fellatio on him before, it had not been like this — since his erection was firm for a long time after its initial arousal, there had been no need for her to stimulate him to this extent. He gulped and tried to gather his thoughts, vaguely knowing that McCoy had walked over to his replicator to retrieve something.

“How’re you doin’?” McCoy asked as he returned. “Are you still... all right with this?”

“Perfectly... fine,” Spock panted. “Please... continue.”

“All right, then.” McCoy’s expression as he settled back between Spock’s legs was tender. He pulled one of Spock’s feet to rest by his groin, pressing his penis against the ankle, then flicked open the tube he had brought.

Spock was startled to feel a moist fingertip rub along his perineum to his anus, but he immediately understood (or thought he did) McCoy’s intentions. He took a deep breath to force his body to relax in preparation for penetration and was surprised when the finger slipped in easily. When McCoy continued to mouth at Spock’s penis and rub around inside of him with only one finger, Spock lifted his head to assess the situation.

“What... are you... trying to... do?” he asked, blushing even more — which he would not have thought possible — at the sight of McCoy’s cheeks hollowed around his penis. The Human took his time sucking off its length before answering.

“Trying to find your prostate. It should be... roughly in the same area.”

His fingertip was pressing the anal wall near the entrance, moving in small circles.

“I believe it is... further inside,” Spock told him, not sure what the doctor’s reasons for finding it might be. Having never considered a homosexual relationship before, Spock had not familiarized himself with the mechanics thereof, so he cried out in shock when McCoy succeeded in finding his prostate.

“Good, isn’t it?” McCoy grinned, rubbing in wider circles. “I guess your testes must be nearby... like around _here_ and _here_.”

Spock’s toes curled and his back arched at the novel, mind-numbing flashes of pleasure generated by McCoy’s touch. His entire body tensed when McCoy rubbed his prostate again.

“Are you ’bout ready?” he asked, but Spock could not think to answer.

“Ah... ah... _ah!_ ” was all he could say, his eyes closed to shut out all sensory input except touch.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” McCoy mumbled to himself before grasping Spock’s penis with his free hand — already slicked with lubricant — and stroking it in tandem with his finger inside. Spock’s cries grew louder and more frequent as he was driven up the heights of ecstasy and pushed over the edge. McCoy kept pumping him until it was clear that he was completely spent, every last drop of his semen spilled onto his stomach and chest.

Spock had never lost his mental control so thoroughly. Even when he had attacked his tormentors in the Vulcan school, there had been a part of his mind telling him to stop, if for no other reason than that he would be punished and perhaps disappoint his parents, but also because he would be proving the other boys correct. Now, he was so wholly emptied of rational thought that he did not know where he was — or even care, for that matter. He felt perfectly sated, satisfied, and happy.

The first thing that led him back out of his comatose state was the sensation of tingling electricity along his abdomen, which somebody was licking.

“Not bad,” McCoy was saying conversationally. “Your body doesn’t have the levels of sodium a Human has, so your come isn’t salty; if anything, it tastes sweet. I wonder if it changes flavor depending on your diet? But wouldn’t you know, it’s got a green tint to it. Son of a gun!”

“Leonard?” Spock asked, just to regain his bearings.

“Yeah?”

“...I love you.”

“I know, sweetheart.” McCoy’s smile was audible in his voice. “I love you too. Go to sleep now.”

Thinking that was good advice, Spock slept. He did not wake when McCoy wiped him off with a towel or when McCoy settled in next to him in bed, holding him close and kissing his nose before falling asleep himself.


	16. A Night of Firsts

Spock woke in the early hours of the morning, somewhat disoriented to see McCoy’s face close to his own, but it helped him remember the events of the previous night. The recollection amazed him with the intensity of the pleasures he had experienced. He was slightly disturbed to realize that he did not even know if McCoy had enjoyed it as well, but even sleeping, McCoy was sending out a steady hum of _HAPPY-HAPPY-PRECIOUS-CONTENT_ that served as a peaceful lullaby. However, Spock’s bladder insisted on being attended to. Taking care not to jostle McCoy, Spock slipped out from his tangled embrace to use the bathroom.

Standing in front of the mirror where he’d first seen McCoy nearly naked, Spock was dismayed to see his own face had become puffy and bloated. _“Perhaps from my bouts of emotional outbursts yesterday? Or a reaction to the sedative?”_ He borrowed a washcloth to press cold water against his eyes. There was a small part of him that worried whether McCoy might be put off by his unsightliness, but he resigned himself since he had no way to remedy the problem. _“Perhaps Leonard will have an idea how to cure it,”_ he thought, then smiled inwardly. _“It is a good thing to be dating a medical officer, indeed.”_

He turned off the bathroom light before opening the door, not wanting to wake McCoy, but his lover was already conscious.

“There you are, darlin’,” he drawled, sounding sleepy yet. “I was hoping you weren’t just a dream or a... figment of my sordid imagination....”

“No, of course not,” Spock replied as he slipped into bed next to him. He was gratified when McCoy’s arms wrapped around him and pulled him close. The kiss they shared was lazy and sweet, nourishing Spock in a way he had not even known he required. The energy that crackled wherever they touched was mild, settling into his bones with a satisfying tingle, but it was particularly strong where McCoy’s penis pressed against his hip.

“Leonard,” he began, pulling out of the kiss first. He had to know. “Did you enjoy... last night... as much as I did?”

“More,” McCoy answered with a shit-eating grin. “I finally got you to lose control! Just hearing you cry out like that, so sexy and _emotional_.... Didn’t you feel me come all over your leg?”

“Oh.... No, I’m afraid... I was too distracted.” Spock rubbed McCoy’s broad shoulders thoughtfully. “I had thought... you wished to penetrate me.”

“All in good time,” McCoy assured him, then kissed his cheek. “I didn’t think I could hold out until I got you ready, so I did the next best thing. God! The noises you made! Could’a made me shoot my load without even touching my cock.” He chuckled and slid his penis against Spock’s thigh, making him aware of its erect condition. “ _Now_ might be a good time to get you ready... but don’t blame me if I can’t wait. You’re so damn beautiful....”

Spock blushed, the heat spreading across his entire body. He became self-conscious about the puffiness of his face but it was too late to ask the doctor about it now — McCoy had retrieved the bottle of lubricant from the shelf at the head of the bed and pulled down the blanket to expose Spock, then sat between his legs, lifting each of them over his own. He paused, though, after slathering the lubricant on his fingers.

“You still want to do this?” he asked, resting one slick palm on Spock’s inner thigh, which surprisingly did not spark any of the electrical charges. “It’s one thing to _expect_ it, but another thing altogether to _want_ it.”

“I _do_ want it,” Spock answered, reaching out to touch his lover’s knees. “If I seem... uncertain... or hesitant at all, it is only because I am... unfamiliar with the protocol for such things.”

McCoy laughed out loud, waves of _AMUSEMENT_ hitting Spock like crashing, scintillating light. “There is no ‘protocol’ for making love, Spock — you just do what _feels_ right.” While Spock drew in a sharp breath, startled by the familiar expression, McCoy added more lubricant to his right index and middle fingers. “All right, let’s get you opened up. Let me know if this hurts at all or is uncomfortable; I don’t want you to get sore.”

“Understood,” Spock said, then braced himself for the intrusion.

“Relax, Spock! Don’t clench. You can do that later, but right now I need you to loosen up,” McCoy told him, rubbing his entrance in small circles.

“Oh! Of course,” Spock replied before concentrating on relaxing his muscles.

“There you go.... The first one usually isn’t a problem,” McCoy said while inserting one finger. “Do you think you can handle another?”

“Yes. Please proceed.”

Snorting with amusement, McCoy slipped in a second finger and twisted them around. “Good! Nice and relaxed. The key is to gradually stretch your sphincter muscles and get them used to having something bigger pushed in. Not that I’m bragging or anything, but I’m pretty sure your evolutionary process didn’t consider taking a huge cock up your ass a priority.”

“No... I would not think so.” Spock tried to inhale deep, even breaths as McCoy gently stretched his opening wider. When the doctor paused to apply more lubricant, Spock realized something. “Is that the... ‘medical supplies’... you had mentioned last night?”

“One of them, yeah. I have another topical cream that’ll help tighten it back up after we’re done — so you don’t have any embarrassing leakages.”

“So then... the lubrication... is conducive to penetration?”

“It’s _necessary_ for penetration. The anus isn’t self-lubricating like a vagina, so you could do some serious damage to the membrane if you don’t use something to reduce the friction.”

“Ah. I see.”

“I take it you’ve never done anal before?”

“No.”

“Not very adventurous, huh?”

“I suppose not.” Spock wondered if he were revealing too much about his past relationship with Uhura, but he had no way of disguising his lack of knowledge.

“Well, I’m just glad I get to be your first,” McCoy said with another grin. “You ready for some real fun?”

“I... ah... yes, of course.” Spock was uncertain what he’d meant by ‘fun’ but discovered soon enough when McCoy pushed his fingers in deeper to find his prostate and testes. Like other Vulcan males, Spock was not biologically programmed to have an erection after sleeping, but his quiescent penis rapidly grew hard and long from the stimulation.

“You like it?” McCoy asked while Spock panted.

“Y—Y—Yes,” he managed. When the rubbing increased in pressure, Spock cried out uncontrollably. “Ah! Ah! _Ah!_ ”

“God, you’re so sexy like this,” McCoy growled, not letting up his assault. “You ready for the third one?”

“Hmm... mmm... oh... yes...” Spock whimpered. The sparks of electricity had returned, coursing into him through McCoy’s fingers. When the third finger slid in next to them, he felt the white glow permeate his entire torso, streaking out through his hands and feet. “Ah!” he gasped, over and over, trembling with ecstasy every time McCoy plunged deeper inside him to stroke his prostate.

“Dammit, Spock... I can’t wait anymore!” McCoy thrust his fingers in a few last times as he inched closer to Spock’s rear, then pulled them out. Spock cried out to protest their loss, but a moment later there was a large, hot, and solid object pressed against his entrance. “I’m goin’ in!” McCoy grunted before pushing his penis inside.

Spock thought he would be blinded by the brilliance of the light which now suffused him and made the room disappear from his vision. He felt McCoy’s hands on him, wrapping around him in a tight embrace while the incredibly large shaft of his penis dug deeper, ever deeper into his body. Spock had no coherent words at his disposal so he cried out in sounds as instinctive as any wild beast. He clutched at the massive warmth of McCoy’s body, almost hot to the touch but so desirable — even _necessary_ for his own survival — and he sobbed from the overwhelming emotions of their combined consciousness. He had never known joy or happiness or bliss before; nothing in his past life could compare to this; everything else was as insignificant as the beam of a single emergency light before the cosmic powerhouse of a blue supergiant. He was awash in the radiance of McCoy’s feeling.

Then the light began to pulsate, assailing him in enormous tidal waves. Vaguely he realized that his lover was moving, thrusting, making love to him in what would have been the common physical lust of any sexual animal if it were not so incandescently luminous with emotion. And with every thrust the hot shaft pressed against that wonderful, sensitive spot deep within him, inciting and demanding his own arousal with unerring accuracy. Spock no longer knew how loudly he was crying out, his babbling lips forming his lover’s name of their own accord, or how desperately his body grasped and pulled at McCoy’s to come nearer, deeper inside, matching the rhythm of the Human’s movements in perfect synchronicity. He kept pace when the cadence grew faster, even when it became frenzied. McCoy might have been shouting; Spock himself could have been shouting and he would not have heard. All that existed for him was the light, the heat, the power of the passion that surged and engulfed him.

Just when he thought he could bear it no more (if he could even be described as thinking at that point) there was a molten swell of even greater brilliance that rushed into the core of his being. Spock was laid helpless before its onslaught, filled to overflowing, obliterated by the light until nothing remained of himself. It was a pleasure so pure that it drove all else away to the edges of the universe, including Spock’s rational mind. He had nothing left with which to resist it — if he had wanted to resist it at all.

***

It seemed a long while afterward that the presence of mundane reality reasserted itself, as though waiting timidly for the dazzling illumination to recede. Spock blinked, focusing on a wall. He blinked again and recognized that he was lying on his side in a bed. He felt more than saw that he was being held by a warm body. The white electrical charge had reduced itself to a monotone hum deep within him — at a spot where he realized he was intimately connected to McCoy. His lover’s semi-flaccid penis was still inside of him, throbbing with the Human’s distinctive heartbeat. Spock cherished it with a fierceness that would have frightened him at any other time. He reveled in the strong arms that held him, safe and secure, while McCoy slept pressed against his back with his breaths warming the nape of Spock’s neck.

 _“I love you,”_ he thought with a flame that burned brightly through his veins. _“I love you, Leonard... so much!”_

He mused whether the unquenchable heat of the _plak tow_ would be comparable — whether he might have entered _pon farr_ already; however, since it was unlikely that his descent into the Blood Fever would so conveniently coincide with his finding a suitable mate, he dismissed that thought. He chose instead to steep in the quiet comfort of the _HAPPY-CONTENT-PROTECT-PRECIOUS_ feelings that were emanating from McCoy.

He had almost been lulled back to sleep when McCoy stirred, perhaps dreaming, and shifted even closer to Spock. As his half-hard penis was pressed deeper into Spock by the motion, a streak of white lightning impaled him through and through. Simultaneously, he sensed a clear thought from his sleeping lover: _“Mine.”_

Spock froze, uncertain how to interpret what had happened. It was one thing to feel another sentient being’s feelings through physical contact, but to be able to hear their actual thoughts — without touching the proper nerve points — was a different thing entirely.

 _“It might be possible, after all, that we have formed some kind of... telepathic bond,”_ he conceded, lacking any other explanation. _“Although we are certainly in direct physical contact, it should not be possible for me to hear his thoughts verbatim. It is also possible that the white energy discharges are related to his emotions, since they do not manifest consistently with touch alone. Perhaps they occur when he is feeling particularly possessive? We have mated now so it may be logical for him to feel that way... even to think that he has a right to demand exclusivity from me.”_

Spock was aware that many Humans balked at the thought of exclusive relationships — “fear of commitment” was a term he had often heard, particularly in regards to the captain — but he considered his current involvement with McCoy objectively and could think of no reason to reject it.

 _“If Leonard wants us to have an exclusive relationship, I would welcome it. Intimacy can flourish more readily when there is a mutual understanding of trust and commitment.”_ He covered McCoy’s arms, which were wrapped around his torso, with his own, feeling a warmth growing within himself like he had felt — on a much more powerful scale — radiating from McCoy. He realized that he was smiling; he felt _happy_.

_“And if Leonard wants to call me ‘his’... to ‘stake his claim’ on me, as it were... that would be... most welcome as well.”_

He reflected that he had felt protective and responsible toward Uhura, as his acknowledged significant other, in addition to his affection; however, he could not recall ever feeling _possessive_ of her. She had always been her own person, strong and individualistic, capable of standing on her own. He suspected that she would have dismissed any possessiveness on his part as being parochial and possibly chauvinistic. It was strange, then, to think that McCoy might feel that way about him.

 _“Is it perhaps an indication that he truly considers himself_ superior _to me in some ways?”_ he wondered, though the idea did not irk him as it might have before. _“Or is it merely a vestigial symptom of his old-fashioned mindset? Is it an instinctive need to possess or assert ownership over that which is precious to him?”_ One of the emotions Spock had consistently felt from McCoy was _PRECIOUS_ or _DEAR_ , something of great personal value. He had to allow that it was only logical to want to possess exclusively — even monopolize — something or someone who held such significance to oneself, since the loss of that object or person would be devastating.

 _“Well. If he wishes to designate me as ‘his,’ I will simply inform him that he is ‘mine’ to the same extent,”_ Spock decided. The concept of claiming ownership of the irascible doctor pleased him, much to his surprise. _“Yes, it will be entertaining to tell him so and see his reaction,”_ he thought and smiled. He was still smiling when he drifted into sleep.


	17. Living a Fantasy

_“So damn adorable,”_ Spock thought he heard McCoy say, although it sounded muffled and faint. _“So cute when he’s sleeping... those perfect lips just hanging open.... He’s even drooling, dammit! Wonder if I could kiss him without waking him up?”_

Spock twitched and stirred, a smile forming on his face before he knew it. “I _am_ awake now,” he murmured.

“What?” came McCoy’s startled reply from above him. “Did you actually just _hear_ me?”

“Yes,” Spock told him, opening his eyes to take in McCoy’s expression of surprise. “I believe you were contemplating a kiss. I would not be averse to it,” he prompted.

“Well... damn! All right,” McCoy said before complying. His thoughts were too obscured by his emotions to read while the kiss lasted, but Spock realized this was a significant development — he could sense a trace of fear in the Human at the notion that Spock could read his thoughts.

“Mmm...” Spock hummed appreciatively as their lips parted. “I had no idea you were so adept at this, Leonard.”

“Yeah?” McCoy said with some hesitance. “I might be a bit rusty....”

“Not that I can perceive,” Spock told him, then touched his face. “Do you find it... disagreeable... that I can hear your thoughts?”

“Well...” McCoy began while his emotions became a jumble of _WORRY-EMBARRASSMENT-HONESTY-FEAR_. “I mean... I thought you couldn’t unless you were, y’know, doing your special thing?”

“Ordinarily that would be true,” Spock agreed. “However, we are in... a great deal of physical contact, which makes the transference easier. And I suspect we have formed a bond — a type of telepathic link — after our shared time together. The fact that we have now become intimate... will only strengthen that bond.”

“So... how much can you make out?”

“I’m not sure. Perhaps we should test it.”

“Okay, uh....” McCoy closed his eyes. _“I want to fuck you,”_ he thought, loud and clear.

“You want to... I believe it is a vulgar term for sexual intercourse,” Spock responded, “although it does not accurately describe the experience I had earlier. It was much more... transcendental.”

“Really? That good?”

“I thought it was obvious.” Spock slid his hands down McCoy’s thick chest, the pendant dangling and swaying between them hypnotically. “I have never experienced anything quite so... _powerful_ before.”

“You sounded like you were having a good time,” McCoy said with a pleased smile. “I couldn’t make out what you were saying — I think you were talking in Vulcan — but when you came so hard around me, I sorta lost it too.... I just hope I didn’t hurt you. It got a little rough toward the end....”

“I feel fine, Leonard. In fact... better than fine,” Spock assured him, returning his smile. “As I mentioned before, my Vulcan physiology is much more robust than that of a Human’s. You do not need to be concerned about injuring me.”

“All right. I just... I don’t wanna mess this up,” McCoy confessed. His emotions of _WORRY-WORRY-WANT_ backed up his words.

“You won’t,” Spock said, then pulled him down for another kiss. It swiftly grew heated as they pressed their naked bodies together and McCoy’s penis became fully engorged. _WANT-LUST-NEED_ echoed through Spock’s senses and a mental image took shape in his mind. It was crude in that it lacked details but effective in conveying the desired impression.

Spock disengaged his mouth and looked up at his lover in fascination. “You imagined me on the bed, facedown, with my posterior elevated.” Spock flushed but added, “If that is what you wish, I can accommodate you.”

“Seriously? You don’t mind?” McCoy asked, disbelief mixed with excitement.

“Mind? Why would I mind? Your attentions have all been... _quite_ pleasurable.”

“Damn,” McCoy breathed before eagerly planting kisses down Spock’s neck to his chest, spreading flashes of buzzing lightning as he went. “I’m the luckiest... son of a bitch... that ever lived!”

Spock had to chuckle at his enthusiasm. “I hardly think such effusion is called for, Leonard, but I am glad to find how easy it is to please you.”

McCoy groaned and sucked hard on his nipple, sending a bolt of energy through Spock. “Easy? You think I’m _easy?_ You have no idea... how long... I’ve dreamed... _fantasized_... of doing this to you!”

Spock gasped at each kiss his lover used to punctuate his progress down Spock’s abdomen, feeling thrills travel through his nervous system that stimulated his own penis. “I had... no idea,” he panted out.

“Of course not — I made sure to keep it that way,” McCoy said, sitting back on his legs to give Spock a break. “Sorry if I got a bit... _gruff_ with you sometimes, but it was damn hard... seeing you with Uhura all the time.” His gaze turned pensive. “Are you sure this is all right? I mean... you’ve broken up with her before, but you always got back together....”

“Not this time,” Spock stated with finality. “I am certain she understands. As much as I regret the pain it must cause her... I _cannot_... reengage with her in that manner.” He reached out to touch McCoy’s arms. “Not after discovering... what it is like... to be with _you_.”

The flood of _HAPPY-HAPPY-PRECIOUS-WANT_ that swept over Spock left him physically breathless even before McCoy bent down to kiss him again. As McCoy’s lips and tongue engaged his in a vigorous wrestling game, the charm of the pendant bumped against Spock’s jaw in time to their movements. The crackling energy was back in full force as well, filling him inside and out with a humming sensation that vibrated with the light. Having so many different things assaulting his senses, it took Spock a moment to realize that McCoy was trying to move him, to flip him over onto his stomach or at least onto all fours. Spock caught his breath and managed to turn over as McCoy had imagined, his head low to the bed and supported on his elbows.

“Oh, God! That cute little ass... so perfect!” McCoy declared, then scrambled to grab the lubricant. “Tell me if it gets too rough, all right? I’m gonna fucking _ream_ your ass, but promise me you’ll tell me if it’s too much!”

“I will, Leonard,” Spock said. He willed his anus to relax and was glad to feel it respond almost immediately. McCoy inserted two fingers, which slid around with enough room to spare for a third, but he slathered the inside carefully with lubricant first. When he touched Spock’s prostate, Spock cried out, seeing stars burst into view where there should have been none.

“You doing okay?” McCoy checked.

“F—Fine,” Spock answered. He might have been affected by the lust coursing through McCoy and flowing out of him; he was pushing back against the doctor’s fingers in a most wanton way, begging for more.

“Aww, damn! So hot!” McCoy gasped as he added a third finger and rewarded Spock’s movements by probing deeper. His efforts were repaid when Spock started whimpering in a high-pitched nasal tone with every stroke against his inner sex organs. McCoy shuddered, trying to restrain himself from ejaculating too soon, then withdrew his hand and moved to replace it with his penis. Spock whined when he was left empty, but he was quickly filled again with what he wanted most.

“Oh! Ah! _Ahhh!_ ” he cried as McCoy pushed it in balls-deep in one smooth motion. When the doctor backed up slightly and slammed it in again, he hit Spock’s prostate and made his senses explode.

“You like it... right _there?_ ” McCoy demanded, though not expecting an answer. “Right _there?_ Yeah, right _here_ isn’t it? _Here_ and _here_ and _here_ ,” he said while aiming for Spock’s sweet spot. “Hot _damn!_ You’re so fucking _perfect!_ So _tight_ and _hot!_ ”

McCoy was gripping Spock’s hips with both hands and pulling him closer with each thrust, making their union as deep as physically possible. Spock was still pushing back against McCoy’s sex, but the white fire that ran through him and sizzled across his nerves was taking a toll on his concentration. He could not focus on anything but simply reacted to the pleasure, seeking more and more of it — which McCoy was only too happy to supply.

There was one word that Spock could hear, however, with every blinding pulse of energy: _“Mine. Mine. Mine.”_

He did not fight it; he accepted it, internalized it, and sent the mutual feeling back to McCoy’s consciousness.

“Yeah, _mine_ ,” McCoy panted, sweating freely now in the warmer temperature he had set for Spock’s comfort. “ _Mine_... _mine_... _mine_ ,” he repeated as he asserted it with every stroke of his shaft, each plunging thrust hammering a stake in his claim. The thought was hypnotic — he was drunk on it, intoxicated by the sight of Spock taking him so deep inside, allowing him to touch him in this most intimate manner, even _wanting_ him to possess him and own him and love him and fuck him. McCoy’s movements grew erratic, then in a frantic flurry of short jabs he reached the crest of his pleasure and moved beyond it, pumping his semen into Spock in the ultimate manifestation of satisfied desire. He could not stop moving for a while; his hips seemed to be on autopilot, intent on continuing their mission until all power was completely exhausted.

When he finally recovered enough to be aware of his surroundings, he was draped over Spock’s backside, his penis slipping out due to the slickness of the mixed lubricant, semen, and sweat. Spock was still braced on his arms and knees but was breathing slowly as though asleep. McCoy reached around to check Spock’s dangling penis and was relieved to find it soft; he was even more relieved to feel Spock’s semen striping the sheet beneath. He had always tried to make sex enjoyable for his partners but after having such a long dry spell, he was worried that he might have lost his touch. He was glad that Spock had found at least some measure of satisfaction despite McCoy losing all control and simply _taking_ what he needed.

He stepped off the bed and indulged himself a moment to admire the view. He had not been exaggerating about having fantasized this exact scenario. The fact that Spock had willingly submitted to being fucked like this (although McCoy had no idea whether it would be considered demeaning in Vulcan culture or not) was something he had dreamed of but never considered possible.

 _“Damn,”_ was all he could think in response. After committing the sight of Spock — spent and unconscious, huddled on his bed with his head resting on his arms and his ass in the air — to memory, McCoy fetched a warm, wet washcloth from the bathroom and wiped him off, then spread a towel over the damp spot on the sheet and gently rolled him over to lie on his side.

 _“Damn... you’re so precious! And I can’t believe you’re actually_ mine _,”_ McCoy thought as he ruffled Spock’s hair with overflowing affection. Spock smiled in his sleep. McCoy lay down facing him so he could drink in that smile for a while longer.

***

The next time Spock woke, it was to the aroma of coffee and a repeated smacking noise. He furrowed his brow, trying to place the familiar sound, and the image that came to his mind was his mother in the kitchen — in their house on Vulcan, which no longer existed — chopping vegetables on her favorite cutting board. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, taking stock of his surroundings.

He was not in his own room, he was naked, but his clothes were folded and stacked on a chair, with a bathroom door left invitingly open. _“Leonard!”_ he remembered, surprised that it had taken him so long. He found a towel on the bed under him and blushed, realizing what its purpose must have been, but wrapped it around his middle before taking a few cautious steps toward the open doorway of the bedroom. McCoy was in the small section of his living space that served as a kitchenette, cutting up something colorful.

“Leonard,” Spock called, still feeling somewhat hazy.

“Oh, hey — you’re up!” McCoy cheerfully returned. “I was gonna wake you up in a bit. I figured you’d wanna shower before breakfast... or brunch, as it’s turning out to be.”

“Oh... I see,” Spock said with a nod. “In that case I will... avail myself of your facilities.”

“Spock?” McCoy asked, wiping his hands and coming over as Spock stepped into the bathroom. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine, Leonard,” he hurried to reply. The _WORRY-WORRY-CONCERN_ had hit him when McCoy drew near. “I’m just... slightly slow in my reactions for some reason.”

“You need protein,” the doctor affirmed, caressing the side of Spock’s face. “We both do... after last night.”

Spock blushed again, though with distinct pleasure. “Indeed.”

“I’ll have it ready by the time you get cleaned up,” McCoy promised, then delayed him by kissing him. “ _Damn!_ ” he exclaimed when their lips parted. “I can’t believe you’re _real_... that you’re really _here_.”

Spock pressed his forehead against his lover’s and did not break eye contact when he said, “I had also not expected you to return my affections, Leonard... and yet you do not hear me doubting the fact that you do.”

“Ahh... I know. Bad habit. Jim gets on my case all the time....”

“Perhaps you should trust the empirical evidence more.” Spock slid his right hand into McCoy’s and intertwined their fingers. “I wish you could see yourself as I do, Leonard: strong... handsome... capable... kind... intelligent... compassionate... gentle... knowledgeable... attractive....”

With each word Spock felt the _WORRY-DOUBT-UNSURE_ turn to _HAPPY-EMBARRASSED-GLAD_. McCoy’s internal monologue went from _“Does he really mean that? He’s just being nice. But maybe he does mean it. Could it be? Maybe... just a little bit.... Ah, who cares — he’s_ here _and he’s not running away....”_ Spock pressed kisses to McCoy’s face until he no longer had a coherent train of thought and his emotions were purely _HAPPY-HAPPY-HAPPY_. They might have stayed that way for longer if something did not chime in the kitchen.

“Oh! Biscuits,” McCoy explained, almost apologetically.

“They smell delicious,” Spock told him with a smile. “I will hurry to... ‘get cleaned up.’ But I am not going anywhere, Leonard... not unless you want me to.”

“Okay,” McCoy answered, still happy in spite of the nagging doubt that crept back in. “I’d better get the quiche in the oven, then.”

They kissed one more time before pulling themselves apart.


	18. Brunch

Spock emerged from the bathroom to a complex conglomeration of aromas, all tantalizing. The sight of McCoy bustling around the table with his shirtsleeves rolled up was also tantalizing, though for a different appetite. The somewhat shy smile the doctor flashed him put an answering smile on Spock’s face before he knew it.

“This smells wonderful, Leonard. Is there anything I can do to assist you?”

“Nope, we’re all set — oh, I’ll just grab the salad from the fridge. Go ahead, sit down.”

Spock looked over the dishes as he waited. The quiche was still piping hot from the oven; the biscuits he surmised were being kept warm in the basket, wrapped in a checkered cloth; and a pot of thick, creamy soup sat in the middle of the table, sending up tendrils of pungent steam.

“You’re lucky I went shopping the other day,” McCoy said while setting down their individual bowls of salad. “I found all the ingredients for my grandma’s favorite no-fail recipes. The gravy is my own concoction, though. It goes on the biscuits — that is, if you’d like some.”

Spock noticed that McCoy was blushing, his hands fluttering nervously as he passed out the utensils. “Of course, Leonard. I am sure everything is as good as it smells.” He placed a hand on McCoy’s before he could knock something over. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness. I had no idea that you were a cook.”

“Oh! No, I’m not a—a cook. I just like to know where my food came from... rather than getting something scrambled from the atoms up. You want coffee?”

“Yes, please.” Spock preferred tea but he wasn’t about to put McCoy to any more trouble. He served out wedges of the quiche onto both their plates and waited until his host had returned with the mugs of coffee.

“Go ahead, start eating... no need to be so formal,” McCoy said, noticing that Spock had yet to pick up his fork. He sat down and helped himself to a biscuit, then split it before pouring the gravy on. “I don’t know what sort of thing you’re used to eating for breakfast; I hope this is all right.”

“It’s delicious, Leonard,” Spock said sincerely, having just taken his first bite of the quiche. “You are a man of many talents.”

McCoy blushed crimson, emitting pulses of _EMBARRASSED-EMBARRASSED-HAPPY_ as he tucked into the food, hungry from the night’s exertions, every so often stealing a glance at Spock as though to make sure he was enjoying his food as much as he claimed to be — or else that he was really there.

Spock discovered that he liked the gravy, since it was spicy without being overly so, but he preferred McCoy’s other recommended method of eating the light, buttery biscuits: with honey. To his dismay the honey seemed to drip everywhere, leaving trails of sticky sweetness, but when McCoy started sucking it off of Spock’s fingers, laughing and teasing, the Vulcan experienced a novel mixture of surprise, humor, and arousal. Although the emotions were similar to what McCoy was feeling, Spock could tell that they were his own. He marveled at how blissful he felt. He wanted to return his lover’s actions and lick McCoy’s fingers, but since his were not covered in honey, Spock leaned in to kiss his cheek instead.

“Wh—What was that for?” McCoy asked with a dazed expression.

“A token of my appreciation,” Spock replied. “I cannot adequately express how delightful this is.”

McCoy stared at him, observing Spock as though expecting to find some deception behind his words, but of course there was none. He tried to sort through the tangled mess of his feelings and thoughts — Spock could feel his fear of failure and disbelief fighting with his gladness — but in the end, he gave up on words and simply kissed Spock’s hand on each knuckle. The tingle of electricity conveyed by McCoy’s lips danced like St. Elmo’s Fire on the surface of Spock’s skin, starting a restless fluttering in his stomach. Spock felt a deep-seated desire growing within him to be _closer_ to his lover in a way that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with intimacy; he wished, illogically, that their bodies could be fused as one so that there would be no space — no air, even — to separate them. The only thing he could do was move his chair closer, which he did. McCoy’s smile was genuine and unclouded at last.

“God, I could eat you up,” he mumbled.

“Cannibalism is generally frowned upon by the Federation,” Spock returned, dead-pan.

“Aww, dammit — you know what I mean!”

Spock allowed himself a small chuckle. “If you mean you could spend the entire day doing nothing more than gazing into the windows of each other’s souls, I completely concur.”

“You read my mind, didn’t you?”

“On the contrary, I merely read my own aloud.” Since McCoy still had not released his right hand, Spock picked up his fork with his left. “However, it would be a shame for your wonderful cooking to grow cold and remain uneaten.”

“Yeah....” McCoy kissed the back of Spock’s hand once more and finally let it go. “But in case you’re wondering, you’re getting _me_ for dessert!”

Before Spock could ascertain the definition of “dessert” in this context, the door chime rang.

“Who the hell...?” McCoy began, getting up to hit the button on the console recessed into the counter.

“Hey, Bones! You home?”

“Jim! Yeah, come on in.”

One more press of a button and Jim strode through the door, wearing his dress uniform and a worried look. “I just went to Spock’s room and—” He broke off as he saw Spock sitting at the table. “Hey! You’re _here!_ ”

“Uh... yes.” Spock exchanged a quick glance with McCoy. “You were looking for me?”

“Well, yeah! I went to the hospital to check on you, and they said you’d been released, but then you weren’t in your quarters so I was—well, never mind. Bones... you _cooked!_ ” The last word was pronounced accusingly.

“Yeah, I’ve been known to do that on occasion,” McCoy drawled, already walking into the kitchen to grab another plate. “There’s plenty to go around so you might as well sit down.”

“You sure?” Jim asked while settling into a chair. “I mean, I already ate breakfast....”

“A nutrition bar is not _breakfast_ ,” McCoy insisted, setting the plate down in front of him.

“Thanks, Mom,” Jim teased, then turned to Spock. “So... how are you feeling?”

“I am... feeling fine. I’m sorry to have caused you concern.”

“Nothing serious, then?”

“Not that we could tell,” McCoy interjected. “I’ve put him on medical leave for a couple of days, just to be sure. I’ll let you know if I think it needs to be extended.”

“Well, you don’t have to rush to get back to work. There’s nothing going on right now that we can’t handle without you. Aw, thanks!” Jim added as McCoy set a mug of coffee in front of him. “Ah... nectar of the gods!” he said after a sip, then popped a chunk of biscuit into his mouth. “Mmm! Grandma’s no-fail recipe! The _best!_ ”

“You bet your ass it is,” McCoy agreed with a wry smile. “This gravy’s new, though. See what you think.”

“You _tampered_ with Grandma’s recipe?” Jim demanded, pretending to be aghast. “Bones! How could you?”

“Just try it before you go snitching on me,” Bones retorted as he poured a ladleful onto Jim’s plate. “If I hadn’t said anything, you might not’ve noticed.”

Dutifully Jim shoveled a mouthful in, chewing with a look of serious concentration before swallowing. “It’s good... although it’s not the same. I think I would’ve noticed, but I’m not sure....” He glanced at Spock and smacked himself on the forehead. “Of course! No meat! You made it vegetarian.”

“Yeah, I used cream of mushroom soup and added sausage seasonings. I ground mushrooms with some hard tofu and fried them to add the texture. Not bad for a spur-of-the-moment idea, if I do say so myself.”

“It really is not bad, and that’s saying something because I know the original.” Jim helped himself to a piece of quiche, then told Spock, “I don’t think I could’ve made it through the Academy without Bones’ homemade breakfasts on the weekends. One of the perks of rooming with him.”

“Indeed. I can see why,” Spock remarked, shooting a brief smile at McCoy and making him blush.

“By the way, Spock, you might want to consider taking some of your vacation time now,” Jim began. “I mean, it’s as good a time as any, and... well, I should tell you that Uhura flipped out when she heard what happened to you yesterday. That’s part of the reason why I came looking for you — she didn’t feel like she could take time off to check on you, since you two... y’know... aren’t together now, but when Sulu told her you’d passed out and had to be transported directly to medical, she just about hyperventilated. I thought we’d have to transport _her_ to the hospital too.”

Spock paled and set down his fork at the mention of her name. “I had not thought to call her... to reassure her of my safety.” He nearly asked McCoy if he could use his room comm, then realized that Uhura would know where the call originated from, which gave him pause.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jim said, interrupting his thoughts. “I’ll let her know you’re all right when I get back. No need to, um... muddy the waters, right? I know these things can get a little... messy.”

“You would know,” McCoy put in dryly, earning him a playful punch in the arm.

“Hey, now! I resemble that.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Dammit, Jim, that’s the oldest joke in the book.”

“Whaaat? It’s a classic.” Jim laughed and resumed eating. “So... Bones. What big plans do you have for your day off? Tell me you’re at least going to go out somewhere instead of holing up here on your couch with a blanket and a book.”

“As a matter of fact, I _am_ going to hole up here with a blanket and a good book. I may even make myself a blanket fort, you never know,” McCoy retorted testily.

“C’mon, Bones — live a little! That new girl in Logistics would probably go out with you if you asked. Take her to a museum or something.”

“What, you mean the blonde? Are you out of your hillbilly mind? She’s _just_ come out of the Academy! Why, she’s practically young enough to be my _daughter!_ ”

Jim looked up at the ceiling as he calculated. “Only if you had a baby when you were _fourteen_ , which would mean you were sexually active at the tender age of _thirteen?_ ” He squinted and pointed at McCoy with his fork for emphasis.

“I meant _theoretically_... medically,” McCoy grumbled. “Just eat your biscuits and quit trying to set me up with infants!”

Jim rolled his eyes and turned to Spock for backup, but he was surprised to see the Vulcan’s face cast down and his lips pursed together. “Spock, you all right?”

A moment passed before Spock answered, a mask of imperturbability sliding into place. “Yes, Jim, I am perfectly fine.” The greenish tint to his cheeks belied his words.

“You sure? Not to be rude, but you don’t look fine.”

“Spock, do you need to lie down?” McCoy asked as well, standing up to assist him if necessary.

“Gentlemen, please,” Spock said, trying to brush off their attention. “I had a momentary bout, but it has passed. Captain, we have ascertained that my medical issues have stemmed from some... psychological difficulties,” he explained. “Had I finished the rite of _kolinahr_ while still on Vulcan, purging all emotions, I might have been able to avoid these issues, but it is useless to speculate now. Suffice it to say, I am still able to overcome these... brief fluctuations... given some time. The best assistance you can give me is to allow me a moment of peace until I can reestablish control.”

“All right... if you’re sure,” Jim said, though his expression remained concerned. “Bones, maybe your blanket fort isn’t such a bad idea....”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him today. _Both_ eyes as much as I can spare them.”

As they resumed eating, their conversation turned to work and the progress on the new Enterprise, for which Spock was grateful. When Jim had suggested taking the girl on a date to McCoy, a bilious wave of jealousy had overtaken Spock so suddenly that for a moment he had been drowned. He had struggled to resurface, with the aid of McCoy’s protestations, but at Jim’s insinuation that McCoy had been sexually active at a young age, the deluge of emotions had threatened to overwhelm him again. Despite McCoy’s denial, it had forced Spock to face the fact that his lover must have been involved with other partners — and not just his ex-wife — in the past.

 _“I have never felt such jealousy before,”_ Spock mused while the other two men chatted. _“Perhaps I am also feeling possessive of him because we have mated. Perhaps, were he an empath also, McCoy would be sensing the same pulses of ‘MINE-MINE-MINE’ emanating from_ me _.”_

His inner tumult had been calmed, however, by the even more powerful waves of _WORRY-WORRY-CONCERN-HEAL_ that had washed over him when McCoy had drawn near. Knowing how much his lover truly cared for him had been the perfect antidote to the green-eyed monster. As Jim reached for another piece of quiche, Spock caught McCoy’s eye to give him a reassuring smile and was gratified to see his lover smile back at him in relief and obvious warmth. Spock hoped that the blanket fort which McCoy was planning to build would have room enough for him as well. The probability, at least in his estimate, was favorably high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited the earlier chapters and realized that I'd forgotten about Bones' pendant! So it's added back into some of his nekkid scenes, in case you're interested. ;)


	19. Christening and Cuddling

After Jim had left — late for a meeting, but having determinedly polished off the gravy — Spock cleared the table while McCoy put the dishes in the sanitizer. When Spock finished wiping the tabletop, he turned to find McCoy leaning back against the counter and ogling his backside with salacious appreciation. Spock’s cheeks flushed from the intensity of that gaze.

“ _Dayyum_ ,” McCoy pronounced, as though unable to believe his luck. “Do that again!”

“Do...? Oh.” Spock bent to reach across the table, wiping it with the sanitizing cloth once more. Before he could finish, the warm hulk of McCoy’s body was pressed up against him.

“I hope to God I’m not wearing you out,” McCoy breathed into his ear, “but I can’t keep my hands off ya.”

His hands were indeed wandering all over Spock’s chest, holding him close and attempting to undo the fasteners of his tunic at the same time. Even if the throbbing emotions of _WANT-WANT-LUST_ did not indicate his frame of mind, the hard mass pressing into Spock’s buttocks would have been sign enough.

“Aw, dammit — turn around,” McCoy demanded, frustrated by the fasteners. When Spock gladly complied, he began opening them from the top, taking care not to damage them in his haste but doing it in haste nonetheless. He planted kisses down Spock’s neck as the skin there became exposed, trailed down the center of his torso until the tunic was completely open, then paused to kneel and pull his trousers and underwear down. Finding Spock’s beginning erection, McCoy hummed with pleasure. “Mmmm... dessert!”

“Oh!” Spock gasped as McCoy kissed, licked, then swallowed his penis. He realized that this must be McCoy’s definition of “dessert,” at least in this type of situation, and filed it away in his memory. He also noted that the doctor’s hands were grasping at his buttocks — which seemed to be an item of particular interest for some reason — and kneading them slowly, suffusing them with the white-hot energy of his passion. Between that and the thorough suckling of his penis, Spock thought he might reach his climax in record time. He grabbed the table behind him for support, unsure whether his legs would support his weight in that event, and moaned with each stroke of McCoy’s forceful tongue. When McCoy pulled his mouth off from Spock’s now fully erect penis, Spock whimpered before he could stop himself.

“Oh, baby... so hot,” McCoy murmured into the thick fur of his pubic region. He looked up at Spock, who was trembling with deferred desire and wordlessly begging him for mercy. “I wanna.... Can you take it inside again? I don’t want to wear your ass out, but—”

“Yes! Yes, please,” Spock panted in his eagerness.

“All right — be right back,” he promised and sprinted to the bedroom.

Spock barely had time to catch his breath and remove his tunic before McCoy was back with the lube, fumbling one-handed to unzip his own fly. Spock assisted him in opening the front of his jeans and felt the blood rushing in his sensitive ears when the enormous Human penis emerged from under the shirttails, engorged to its full girth and length with a bead of pre-come forming at the tip. Suddenly Spock felt an irresistible craving to taste it, to lick it and savor its unique flavor, so he sank to the floor and grasped the shaft in both hands. He heard his lover groan, almost in pain, as he cleaned the fluid off. The saltiness and bitterness surprised him but were not enough to deter him. Remembering how good McCoy’s attentions had felt on himself, Spock did his best to replicate the process, licking and kissing and pulling the male organ into his mouth. He could feel the pounding of McCoy’s heartbeat as well as his _LUST-LUST-WANT_ through the contact — in fact it seemed to come through more powerfully, though it may have been because McCoy’s arousal had reached peak levels.

“Spock... no, don’t.... God! I’m gonna... you’re gonna make me... come.... Spock, wait! Not yet!” McCoy pleaded, and the sharpness of his last words finally penetrated Spock’s mind.

“But... is that not... what you wish?” Spock asked, continuing to lick; he couldn’t seem to get enough of McCoy’s musky scent and the taste of his leaking pre-come.

“Well, yeah, but... I wanna come... _inside_ you,” he explained.

Spock realized that he wanted his lover _inside_ as well. He nearly stumbled when he stood up since his trousers were still around his ankles, but McCoy held him steady.

“You really... want this... huh?” he asked, studying Spock’s face.

“Yes,” Spock answered, then reached around McCoy’s shoulders to hold him while bringing their mouths together. As their tongues slid against each other, rough and clumsy with desire, Spock sensed that McCoy’s tenuous control was eroding. He could feel the Human’s driving need to penetrate him and — wanting to _be_ penetrated just as much — he forced himself to break away.

“Please... inside!” he gasped, unable to say more.

“Hell yeah,” McCoy answered, then roughly turned him around and pushed Spock’s torso down over the table, guiding him to support his weight with his elbows. He grabbed Spock’s hips with both hands and pulled them back before snatching the lube off the table and applying a liberal amount to his crack, swiftly working it into his anus with sure, deft fingers. “You ready?”

“Yes! Yes.... Oh... _yes!_ ” Spock cried out as he was breached by the thick penis. He could feel it sinking deeper, hot and hard, into the very core of his being; he could also feel how it felt for McCoy to be plunging into him, how his own warm body was providing just the right amount of resistance to rub against the shaft’s sensitive skin without making it painful or resisting his progress. It was the best of both worlds, the singular benefit of being a touch empath — something he had used to great effect with Uhura but, lacking her genitalia, had not been able to enjoy quite to this degree. He pushed back against McCoy’s sturdy frame, wanting their union to be as deep as possible. When the head of his penis hit his prostate, Spock yelled involuntarily, then heard his own high-pitched voice echo through McCoy’s ears and discovered that it sent jolts of arousal into the Human’s already overstimulated organ.

 _“There can be no better sensation in the universe,”_ Spock thought to himself, though barely cognizant. Then McCoy reached around him to grab his neglected penis, sending white-hot lightning bolts arcing through it to shoot up and down his body, and all coherence was shattered. Now he could feel the strong fingers providing a robust tunnel for his organ to rut into as well as what that organ felt like to those fingers as it thrust of its own accord, seeking more friction and release.

“Spock... aw, dammit, Spock, I’m gonna... I can’t... hold out,” McCoy stammered, struggling not to drool onto Spock’s naked back. “So good! So damn _hot_....”

Spock mindlessly pushed himself back against the pounding hips as McCoy’s penis continued to hit his prostate with a high degree of accuracy. He could feel his lust cresting — or was it McCoy’s? He could no longer tell and no longer cared. The powerful energy building up between them was a part of both of them. When McCoy shoved deep and hard into Spock and held it there, trembling as he started to ejaculate, Spock also thrust hard into his hand and ejaculated. Again and again, until they were both emptied completely, they moved in perfect harmony. When they finished, they were both on weakened legs needing support, Spock clinging to the table and McCoy clinging to Spock.

“Fuck... yeah,” McCoy muttered his satisfaction. “Oh, fuuuck...!”

Spock’s vision had been lost in the blinding light that had spread out from his body to engulf the entire room, but his sight gradually returned to him as his breathing slowed. The first thing he saw was the glass tabletop; the second was the semen spattered everywhere under it — on the glass, on the floor, even on his trousers, which were still in a heap around his feet.

“You all right?” McCoy asked him, rubbing his chest and stomach.

“Yes... perfectly fine,” Spock replied with a smile pulling at his lips. “However... I seem to have... made something of a mess....”

McCoy laughed as he peered around Spock to see what he meant. “Aww, that’s beautiful! You did a good job christening this table.”

“‘Christening’?” Spock echoed, confused.

“Yeah. You know like they do with champagne for starships? Your come being the bubbly in this case.”

Spock considered the illogic of the comparison hazily while McCoy kissed his back and caressed his body. It mattered little to him, though, and if McCoy was happy — which he certainly seemed to be — he figured that was enough.

“Hey... wanna get comfortable?” McCoy asked, his emotions washing over Spock with warm waves of _CARE-CARE-HAPPY_. “I don’t have the energy to build a blanket fort right now, but we could still cuddle on the couch. I had to turn down the thermostat when I was cooking, so I don’t want you to get cold....”

Spock straightened himself up off the table and twisted to meet his lover’s eyes. “That sounds pleasant... though I am not in any danger of hypothermia at the moment.”

McCoy smiled and kissed him over his shoulder. “Yeah, well, let’s not risk it. I _am_ supposed to be monitoring your health, after all.”

Spock turned around completely to face him and deepen the kiss, missing the presence of McCoy’s penis as it slipped out but replacing it with the satisfaction of tasting McCoy’s mouth. Spock was flushed from the exertion of their frenzied lovemaking, yet the gentleness of McCoy’s embrace and the tenderness with which he touched Spock’s back — tracing the delicate contours with both hands as though committing the curvature to memory — left him wanting more. The only hindrance was the fact that McCoy was still almost fully clothed. He had been so eager to enter Spock, he had only undone the minimum of his clothing necessary to achieve that end.

“There seems to be a... disparity... in our state of dress,” Spock pointed out between soft nips at his lover’s lips.

“You mean... you wanna see me... _naked?_ ” McCoy asked with a devilish lift of one eyebrow.

“It is only fair... and... _logical_ ,” Spock returned, smiling rather roguishly himself. Then he admitted, “I don’t want anything... to come between us.”

“Yeah?” The expression in McCoy’s eyes was hopeful. “Then your wish... is my command.”

He began unrolling the sleeves of his denim shirt, so Spock took the opportunity to unbutton the front of it. Seeing the pendant gleaming under his throat, Spock placed his lips in the divot just above it, on the freckle that was aesthetically centered. He pulled back and watched as McCoy discarded his shirt and finally pushed down his jeans (he was not wearing any underwear), then stepped out of it to stand barefoot and naked all the way up.

“C’m’ere,” McCoy coaxed, holding out his hands, which Spock instinctively took. He realized that McCoy was offering to support him while he also stepped out of his trousers and shoes. This was accomplished with more difficulty, since ordinarily he would have removed his shoes first, but at last he was freed from them, half-falling into McCoy’s arms and chuckling at the absurdity of it all. However, Spock decided that standing pressed against his lover with not a stitch of clothing to separate them was well worth any trouble. He slid his hands up McCoy’s broad chest until they wrapped around his neck again, then sighed in pure contentment.

“Damn,” McCoy mumbled into Spock’s hair, cradling his head with one hand while cupping one of his buttocks with the other. His lips found purchase on the lobe of Spock’s ear, then nibbled up the shell to the pointed tip, wreathing the ear in warmth all the way. His tongue flicked out to lick it, sending a shiver up Spock’s spine; it proceeded to spiral down into his ear canal and gently worm its way in.

“W—What are you...” Spock began, not flinching but tensing from the strange sensation.

“Oh, sorry! You don’t like that?” McCoy asked, having removed his tongue as soon as Spock spoke.

“It’s... difficult to say. I have never experienced that before,” Spock confessed.

“Sorry, I just... I wanted to... taste you....”

Spock regretted his reaction, for now he could sense McCoy’s harsh self-condemnation as he thought words like _“idiot”_ and _“pervert”_ and _“blunder”_ and _“failure.”_

“There is no need to apologize,” Spock hurried to assure him. “I was merely taken by surprise.”

“No, I’m sorry — I should’ve realized it would feel weird for your sensitive ears.”

“Not ‘weird’... simply _novel_.” Spock ran his hands through McCoy’s hair in an attempt to soothe him. “If you wish to continue, I have no objection. In fact I am curious to see — to experience _all_ of the novel activities you might envision for us.”

There was still a chorus of doubt and guilt running in the back of McCoy’s consciousness, but he swallowed hard to pull himself together. “Well, all right... but we should maybe move to the couch and grab a blanket. Your skin’s getting chilled.”

“That sounds delightful,” Spock said, smiling in the hopes that it would allay McCoy’s fears further. The Human’s answering smile was uncertain but he quickly went to the bedroom to grab some spare blankets. Spock used the time to pick up and fold their clothes, setting them on the dining table chairs. He would have used another sanitizing cloth to clean his semen off the floor and table but McCoy stopped him.

“Don’t worry about it — I’ll get it later,” he insisted, wrapping a blanket around Spock’s shoulders. “Come on, I think we earned ourselves a little break.”

Spock followed him to the couch, where McCoy — now also wrapped in a blanket — sat down with his legs spread wide.

“C’m’ere,” he invited, patting the space between his thighs. “Sit sidesaddle.”

Spock eased down onto the spot, shifting the blanket so his bare body would contact McCoy’s chest and pressing himself against that solid mass. McCoy pulled the blankets close around them, making sure to cover Spock’s feet where they stuck out onto the couch, then reclined the seat to raise his own legs.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his emotions still tainted with worry.

“Absolutely,” Spock replied before kissing McCoy’s shoulder and neck. They relaxed under his lips as McCoy accepted that Spock was truly contented and settled in to petting him like he had wanted to for a long time. _Years_ , Spock realized. It was a weighty truth, one that he wished he had discovered much sooner. The doctor’s famed hands were stroking his skin, leaving glowing trails of warmth, filling him with a sense of wellbeing and happiness. Spock basked in it for a while before it occurred to him that although he could feel McCoy’s affection for and attraction to him, McCoy possessed no such perception and must rely on Spock’s words and actions to decipher his emotions.

“Leonard,” he whispered, pausing in his kisses, “I hope you know... you have made me... deliriously happy.”

“Yeah?” The look on McCoy’s face was open — vulnerable. But then it was replaced with a teasing smirk. “You don’t look too delirious to me.... Should I check your vitals... just in case?”

Spock did not stifle his smile as he captured his lover’s mouth with his own. When they came up for air, he told him, “For a Vulcan... I am behaving _very_ deliriously.”

“Hmm. Guess I’ll just have to keep you under observation.”

“Indeed.”


	20. Communication

They sat there for a long time, content to simply enjoy each other’s warmth as the blankets cocooned them. Spock had found the perfect angle to nestle against McCoy, his face pressed against the Human’s neck, and had amused him when he’d let out a sigh of utter comfort and relaxation. McCoy’s gentle touches were soothing, almost hypnotic as his hands stroked back and forth over Spock’s skin, and the backdrop to it all was McCoy’s subdued waves of _HAPPY-HAPPY-PERFECT-MINE_. Even the trace of incredulity that had been present at first had faded as McCoy internalized that the weight of Spock in his arms was real, the feel of his body against him was real, and the events of the past night had been real as well.

Spock had not realized that he’d drifted to sleep until he was woken from it, jarringly, by the beeping of the comm. It took McCoy five shrill beeps to un-recline the section of the couch, pull the coffee table closer with one foot, and press the tiny button recessed into the surface with his toe.

“McCoy,” he barked, sounding gruff and intimidating, as the comm panel slid up.

“Doctor, the captain said Commander Spock might be in your quarters,” came Uhura’s clipped voice.

Spock froze for a split second before answering, “Yes, I am here. I am sorry for any concern—”

“There is an incoming subspace message for you from New Vulcan,” she interrupted.

“Oh! Yes... my father,” Spock said, glancing at McCoy.

“Patching it through now. Visual also.”

Uhura’s brusque comment gave them no time to move or shift positions before the venerable face of Sarek, former Ambassador of the Vulcan High Command to Earth, came on the viewscreen. Even to McCoy’s untrained eye, it was clear that Sarek was shocked to find his son swaddled in blankets with another man.

“Father,” Spock began, feeling his cheeks flush but doing his best to remain calm, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“It seems I have contacted you at an inconvenient time,” Sarek responded, his eyebrows mostly obscured by his bangs.

“Not at all, Father,” Spock said while placing a hand on McCoy’s arm to still the Human’s panicked movements as his emotions shouted _EMBARRASSED-EMBARRASSED-HIDE_. At least the refrain of his thoughts — _“Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit!”_ — was easy enough to ignore. “I have wished to inform you of some... recent events, which will explain this situation you find me in.”

“I see,” Sarek said, though Spock sensed that his father would have preferred to _not_ see this particular tableau. “Perhaps that would also explain why a medical facility in Yorktown has notified me that you had been admitted for vertigo, heart palpitations, difficulty breathing, and loss of consciousness.”

“Oh,” Spock and McCoy gasped at the same time. “Forgive me, Father,” Spock continued. “I had forgotten that they would contact you as my next of kin. I assure you I am in good health. The symptoms were manifestations of a... psychological condition.”

“Indeed?” If anything, Sarek’s brows rose higher.

“Yes.” Spock pulled the blanket tightly around himself as he shifted to face the viewscreen, hoping McCoy would follow suit so that their nakedness underneath would not be revealed. “When my mother died... you told me that your reason for marrying her had been... because you loved her.”

Sarek blinked, perhaps to keep his gaze from flitting to the Human sitting behind his son. “Yes... it was.”

 _“He did?”_ McCoy thought in surprise.

“I am pleased to inform you that I have found such a life-mate... one to whom I can give my whole heart... unreservedly.”

 _“You have?”_ McCoy thought, electrified.

“Indeed,” Sarek evenly replied. “Am I to assume it is not Nyota Uhura, for whom you annulled your marriage to T’Pring?”

 _“He **what?** ”_ McCoy’s emotions grew confused and chaotic.

“That is correct,” Spock answered. “As you may remember from our previous conversations, I had been hesitant to solidify that relationship with any greater degree of permanence.”

Sarek nodded. “You had noted that she could be... volatile. Unpredictable.”

_“Really?”_

“She is Human,” Spock said, not unkindly. “Given the tumultuous nature of our relationship... and the many times she had considered the efforts to maintain it futile... I had long wondered if she might not be better served — _happier_ with someone of her own species.”

_“Oh... wow....”_

“A logical conclusion,” Sarek said with slight approval. “I had wondered myself if your mother might not have been happier with her own kind, despite her repeated declarations to the contrary.”

“She loved you very much,” Spock stated, causing a shadow of something like pain to flit across his father’s features. “I know it could not have been easy for her to live on Vulcan, but she displayed a remarkable resiliency and ability to adapt.”

“She was a credit to her species,” Sarek agreed.

“As is Dr. McCoy,” Spock smoothly followed. He even managed to keep a calm façade through the barrage of McCoy’s emotions: _PANIC-CONFUSION-DISBELIEF-PANIC_. “I trust you remember him?”

“Of course.” Sarek inclined his head courteously while McCoy gaped. “The chief medical officer of the Enterprise... the man who kept my son alive through the incident on Altamid. You have my respect and gratitude, Doctor.”

“Oh, I, uh... I was just... doing my job... Sir,” McCoy stammered.

“You did more than that, Leonard,” Spock protested, turning back to meet his eyes. “Though you are always fiercely protective of your patients, you went above and beyond the call of duty to safeguard my health with only primitive tools at your disposal. And despite your apprehension about piloting the alien craft, you managed to rescue our captain. You were also the first person I could confide in about Ambassador Spock’s death... because I knew your counsel would be sound and your heart, sympathetic. In every challenge you have been presented, you have proven yourself capable and efficient while never losing sight of your calling to be compassionate to all lifeforms. For all that... and so much more... you have my respect, my gratitude... and my love.”

Time seemed to still as Spock took McCoy’s face in one hand to guide their lips together. Perhaps because the running commentary of thought in the doctor’s mind had skidded to a complete halt. It was a chaste kiss but it sparked a flame of enormous intensity in McCoy. Spock smiled as he pulled away, for he could see that fire in his lover’s eyes, incinerating his self-doubt.

“Well.” Sarek’s bland tone could not have been described as embarrassed, but his words were brisk. “It seems you are resolute in your choice, then.”

“I am, Father,” Spock said, returning his attention to the viewscreen. “While you may object to my forming such a consequential opinion so quickly, I have known Leonard for many years and am convinced that I shall not regret my choice.”

“Very well. It seems... logical.”

“ _And_ emotional.” Spock faced his father’s piercing gaze without flinching. “I love him. Nyota had accused me, rightly, of becoming obsessed with him, but that was only a part of the truth. While my mind grew fascinated with him, my heart had already formed an attachment... unlike any other I have ever known. Before I was cognizant of it, I had, as the Human expression goes, ‘ _fallen_ in love’ to such a degree that it affected my ability to maintain emotional equilibrium — hence my admittance to the hospital to investigate the cause of those physical aberrations. Once the doctor had determined that no physical cause existed, it was a simple matter of deduction to realize that they were a result of my infatuation with him.”

Spock paused to catch his breath since he was also being affected by the increasingly powerful waves of _AMAZING-HAPPY-DISBELIEF-GLAD_ beating upon his consciousness from McCoy.

“When I revealed this to him, I was... pleasantly surprised to discover that he had harbored affection toward me as well, which he had concealed out of consideration for Lieutenant Uhura and my relationship. Since she has recently opted to no longer continue that endeavor, I am now free to pursue a relationship with Leonard. And although it has only been a short while yet, I can inform you that we are quite compatible.”

Sarek nodded. “You have not surprised me in this matter, Spock.... Ever since you chose to join Starfleet, I had suspected that you might choose a life-mate from another species. And yet I had hoped — especially after so many of our kind were lost — that you would consider joining us here on New Vulcan to help rebuild our culture... as well as our population.”

“I had considered that, Father, and given it serious thought. However, you know as well as I that my half-Human bloodline does not make me an optimal mate. T’Pring’s family had valued the connection to ours, but many of them were... less than welcoming of me.” Spock pursed his lips briefly before adding, “I do not wish to be selected as a... last resort.”

Sarek raised one eyebrow. “Another emotional decision?”

“The _right_ decision for me, Father. I am, after all, half Human.”

“So it would seem.” Sarek appeared resigned as he lifted his hand in the traditional salute. “Live long and prosper, Spock.”

“Peace and long life, Father.”

“And to you as well, Dr. McCoy.”

McCoy was startled out of gazing blankly at the back of Spock’s neck. “Uh... thank you. You too,” he managed.

Spock could not suppress the fond smile that took over his face before Sarek ended the transmission. _“Well, so be it,”_ he thought. _“At least my father knows that I am happy.”_

“Spock?” McCoy asked, his voice subdued.

“Yes, Leonard?”

“Is it true that they look down on you... because you’re half-Human?”

“That part of me was considered by many to be inferior, yes. It is why I decided to join Starfleet instead of the Vulcan Science Academy. On Earth, I was merely one of many alien species working together; on Vulcan, I would have been the only anomalous individual.”

Spock gasped as he felt McCoy’s lips against his nape, then his tongue licking up his hairline. McCoy was wrapping his arms around him again as well.

“That must’ve been... awful,” he whispered between kisses behind Spock’s ear.

“It was not pleasant,” Spock admitted.

“And yet... your mom... lived there for years?”

“Yes. With very little Human companionship.” Spock sensed McCoy’s sympathy and admiration for the lone Human woman who had braved such a society to be with the man she loved. “She was an exceptional woman. I do not think my judgment is biased on that point.”

“No... it isn’t.” McCoy pulled his lips away from Spock’s skin, though he still held him tightly against his chest. “I wish I’d gotten to meet her.”

Spock swallowed, more affected by that simple statement than he would have expected. “As do I.”

“And what’s this about... your being married?”

Having expected this question from the waves of curiosity being projected by McCoy, Spock smiled as he answered, “In Vulcan culture, our mates are chosen by our family — usually our fathers — at a young age. It is like a betrothal or engagement, but it carries far more significance than on Earth. However, when Nyota approached me and stated her interest, I considered it more logical to select a life-mate who would be at least willing to accompany me wherever possible. T’Pring had never wished to leave Vulcan.”

Spock paused as he realized that she had been forced to relocate from the only homeland she had known, as had the few others fortunate enough to survive the attack.

“She and her family did not hesitate to accept our request for annulment. I have since heard that she has chosen another.”

“Hmm.” McCoy continued to hold Spock close. “Do you... regret that? Letting her go?”

“No, of course not. Though she and I were compatible by Vulcan standards, even sharing certain bonds through the rituals of our binding, there was very little affection on either of our parts. If we spent our lives together as intended, we would have developed a greater connection, but... I fear it would have paled in comparison to the deep-seated attraction I have felt for you.”

“Wow,” McCoy mumbled into the blanket on Spock’s shoulder. The waves of his emotions had changed to _AMAZING-MINE-HAPPY-INCREDIBLE_. His thoughts, though jumbled, were in the same vein.

After a minute of silence, in which Spock enjoyed being held — feeling how much McCoy enjoyed holding him like this — he noticed something that had escaped his attention due to the concentration required to speak with his father.

“Leonard... I’m afraid... I may have made another mess.... You had mentioned something, earlier, about... ‘embarrassing leakages’....”

McCoy began to chuckle, then shake with silent heaves, until he finally laughed out loud and long.

“I do not understand why it affords you so much amusement,” Spock responded. “It is not only damaging to your furniture but also... _unsanitary_.”

“Aww, Spock! It’s no big deal. Nothing the stain-bot can’t fix.” McCoy pulled him back to kiss his jaw. “Why don’t you stand up and let me see how well you christened the couch.”

Frowning in confusion at McCoy’s cavalier attitude, Spock nevertheless followed his suggestion and stood up. The majority of the blanket’s surface area had been covering his torso, but it had not been under his buttocks. Consequently, there was a pool of semen which his body had deposited on the fabric of the couch. At least he hoped it was only semen. McCoy studied the puddle of whitish goo between his thighs with enormous satisfaction.

“Now _that’s_ what I call a wad,” he declared with a grin. “And you made me blow it all inside of you! Damn, Spock — you’d make the hookers on Farius Prime jealous!”

“I am not certain that I should be flattered by such a comparison,” Spock answered honestly, then was engulfed by a surge of _STUPID-STUPID-IDIOT-FAILURE_. McCoy jumped up and drew near him, leaving his blanket behind on the couch so that he was stark naked.

“I’m sorry... I—I didn’t mean it like that.... I w—wasn’t comparing you to—” he desperately tried to explain.

“I understand,” Spock told him, letting his own blanket slip to the floor in favor of stepping into his lover’s embrace. “I know you did not intend it to be derogatory. What I do not understand is why you should be so pleased about... _that_.”

“No?” McCoy said, puzzled in turn. “I guess I... it’s just... it’s _proof_ , y’know? Of what we did... what you let me do.... God! I still can’t believe it, but.... Okay, maybe it’s some primitive, barbaric thing we under-evolved Humans like to do, but... you know how some species mark their territory?”

“Yes... usually with urine or other scent glands, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Right! So... it’s sort of like that. It’s proof that I... I marked you... that I got to do _that_... with you.”

Spock tilted his head as he processed this new concept. “But Leonard... wouldn’t the act itself be proof enough?”

“Well, sure, but... this is different.” McCoy cast about for a better description. “When we’re actually _doing_ it, it’s like... all heat and lust and your heart pounding in your head so loudly that you can’t fucking _think_ , but this... you can _see_ after that craziness is over. It’s _evidence_ that you can review in the cold light of day when your brain is functioning again.”

“And this pleases you?” Spock asked for confirmation.

“Well, yeah....” McCoy’s eyes were filled with uncertainty, although perhaps Spock was able to interpret their expression because he could hear McCoy’s emotions wavering with _WORRY-WORRY-PERVERT-WORRY_.

“If it pleases you, then it pleases me,” he stated, sliding his arms around McCoy’s neck to bring their bodies into full contact. “But if you wish to claim me as your own, I shall insist on equal rights to claim you as mine.”

“Really? You... want me? To be yours?”

Spock felt his chest tighten at the disbelief that McCoy’s spoken words, thoughts, and feelings all conveyed.

“ _Yes_ , I want you to be mine,” he declared. “Did you think... this was a mere _physical_ attraction? Or that I only wanted a passing involvement — like the many fleeting affairs the captain has?”

McCoy glanced down, abashed. “Well, I... I didn’t know. I thought maybe... you just wanted to, y’know... get it out of your system. So you wouldn’t have all those... symptoms.”

This time, Spock could not logically accuse McCoy of influencing his emotions, for just as McCoy was beginning to feel truly hopeful, Spock felt an overwhelming sadness that even after so many verbal professions — in Sarek’s hearing, no less — as well as their repeated sexual encounters, McCoy still had not comprehended the depths of Spock’s attraction to him. Spock could not hold back the tears that flowed out of his eyes and splashed onto the Human’s shoulder, although for the moment, Spock had to acknowledge that he felt very much Human himself.


	21. Memory Meld 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Abusive situation described.

“Aww, Spock! God, I can’t stand it when you cry,” McCoy protested, his hands fluttering indecisively between holding Spock close and shaking some sense into him. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, just... please _stop_.”

Spock steadied his breathing, though still shedding unrestrainable tears, and looked at McCoy.

“Do you truly think,” he began, his voice sounding strange in his own ears. He paused and started over. “But you must, for I can feel your emotions on the matter. You think that I was... that I am merely _using_ you to rid myself of those symptoms?”

“Well, no — I mean, _‘using’_ is a strong word, and it’s not like I didn’t enjoy it—”

“But you think I am taking advantage of your willing nature, only to discontinue the relationship as soon as it becomes inconvenient or... uninteresting?”

McCoy’s mouth opened to contradict him but no sound came out. His thoughts and feelings made it evident to both of them: he was only now realizing that that was _exactly_ what he had expected.

“What of all the things I told my father?” Spock pressed. “Do you think I did not mean them? That I was deceiving my own parent?”

“W—Well, y’know, after he caught us like th—that,” McCoy stammered, “I figured you’d need to tell him _something_ so he wouldn’t think you were, uh... y’know... being _promiscuous_ or anything....”

“Leonard,” Spock enunciated slowly, hoping to drive his words home, “I would not deceive my father. It is not in my nature. True, I am half Human, but most of my life and training has been Vulcan, and I assure you, we do not make a habit of prevarication.”

“Okay, but you might’ve... y’know... _exaggerated_ a little bit,” McCoy hedged, showing some of his usual argumentative mettle. “Just making things seem... not quite so bad.”

“Oh, Leonard,” Spock sighed, close to tears again. “Why do you find it so difficult to understand that I truly care for you? Is it because we have argued about so many issues over the years? Or do you believe me _incapable_ of deep feeling? That my attraction for you is such a small thing that I can ignore it or dismiss it at will? From my medical troubles alone, you should realize I would not have experienced such debilitating effects were I capable at all of controlling them.”

“No, Spock — it’s not you; it’s _me_. And I _mean_ it when I say that.” McCoy had squeezed his eyes shut to avoid meeting Spock’s but his emotions were beating against Spock’s heart with _PAIN-SADNESS-LONELINESS-FAILURE_. “I just... I don’t _dare_ believe it, all right?” he confessed at last. “I’m _scared_ of believing you when you say that because... I’m afraid it’ll only hurt worse when you leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Spock protested, raising his voice in frustration.

“ _Everybody_ leaves me!” McCoy responded.

Spock froze, realizing that those words had been dredged up from the deepest, darkest pit of McCoy’s psyche. Every fiber of his being believed them... and was consumed by the pain they represented.

“Leonard,” Spock whispered, cradling his lover’s face in both hands, willing him to open his eyes. “Leonard, please. I want to understand... I _need_ to understand... where all of this is coming from.”

“No... you don’t.... Just... never mind! Forget it,” McCoy babbled, trying to pull away from Spock but failing. The Vulcan was not about to release him.

“Tell me, Leonard... or better yet, _show_ me. Please.” Spock drew McCoy closer until their foreheads were pressed together, their noses touching; McCoy could not avoid his gaze now. “Let me meld with you... see your memories. I know it will be painful, Leonard, but... I must understand why you cannot believe me — why you cannot believe in _yourself_ — so I may better assist you.”

“Why?” The whispered word was almost drowned by the tumult of McCoy’s heart.

“Because I want you to be happy.” Spock gently kissed him, trying to convey more than simple attraction with the contact of their lips. Looking into McCoy’s mind, Spock could see the pain and despair that had long been in residence there; but he also found a small hint of hope. Hope against hope. “Leonard, will you trust me?” he asked. “I will not injure you; any pain will come only from reliving your memories. But will you share them with me?”

McCoy still hesitated, so Spock waited, knowing his lover needed to agree to this on his own.

“You really... want to know?”

“I do.”

McCoy licked his lips and swallowed, closing his eyes as though conferring with himself.

“All right, then. But... let’s get you wrapped up again... or at least raise the temperature.”

Spock smiled, touched to realize that regardless of the situation, the doctor’s first concern was the wellbeing of others. His smile turned sad, however, when McCoy picked up the blanket Spock had discarded and wrapped him in it again.

_“He has so much love to offer.... Why has nobody loved him reciprocally?”_

“Do you, uh... need anything to do this?” McCoy glanced around the room. “A crystal ball or... I dunno... smoke and mirrors?”

“I only require you to relax and open your mind,” Spock told him. “Please sit and make yourself comfortable.”

“All right....”

McCoy grabbed the other blanket and chose an unsullied spot of the couch. When he had settled in, clearing his throat a couple of times, Spock drew near and straddled his lap. After tying the corners of his blanket together to ensure that it would not slip off, Spock placed his fingertips on the various psi points on McCoy’s face.

“Just relax,” Spock murmured in his ear. “Take me to your earliest memories... your thoughts to my thoughts....”

As McCoy’s breathing slowed and his body calmed, pictures began to form in his mind. They were a whirlwind at first but Spock guided them to grow still, then selected one filled with sunshine — a happy memory.

_Leonard was very young, with only a few words at his disposal, but he knew the sunshine was a good thing. Being out in it, under the big willow tree, was his favorite part of the day. Running in circles chasing the old dog, who would never quite let him catch her, was his favorite game. His mother was there, watching and laughing. His father was not, but since that was usual, Leonard did not know to miss him. He delighted in everything he saw. He found a stick and threw it for the dog; the dog ignored it and licked his face, making him scream with laughter. When he tired of running, his mother offered him cookies and milk. He was happy._

Spock held warmth of the golden light from that moment in his heart, willing himself and McCoy to remember it. He knew it might be a small thing, but even so it could help ward off the darkness he feared was to come. He carefully selected another image, as though in a museum gallery where the pictures were doors to that scene.

 _Leonard was in a strange place that smelled funny. He was older now and had been in school for a while. He noticed that a lot of people were wearing black. Nana was wearing a black dress and looked tired. He clung to her, hoping she would have some candy in her purse._  
_“Would you like to say goodbye to Bumpa?” his mom asked._  
_“Where is Bumpa?” Leonard asked, confused. She picked him up and took him across the room to where Bumpa was lying in a large wooden box with a lid. He was surrounded by flowers. “Where is Bumpa going?”_  
_“We don’t know,” Nana answered. “Nobody has ever come back to tell us what it’s like.”_  
_“Is it... like school?” Leonard asked. He liked his teacher and classmates well enough, but he wished he didn’t have to stay there so long._  
_“Maybe.” Nana smiled for the first time that day. “Maybe it is.”_

Spock felt McCoy grow pensive, but at least he was not sad yet. The images in the interstices of McCoy’s memories were lined up in chronological order and seemed to be bigger and more vivid the more important they were. Spock chose the next one that seemed significant.

 _Leonard was in Little League and his team had been doing well. This was the last game of their season and his dad had promised to come watch him play — he had never been able to get away from the hospital in time to before. Leonard kept checking the stands as he warmed up to go to bat. “He’ll be here,” he kept telling himself. “He said he would — he_ promised _.” Finally it was Leonard’s turn to bat. He struck out on the first pitch, didn’t swing on the second, then hit the third one up over the shortstop’s head and beyond the outfielder. While it wasn’t a home run, it let the runner on second base come home while Leonard comfortably got to first base. He followed the coach’s directions and made it to second; then a wild throw on the other team’s part allowed him to slide into home. His team won, nine to five, ending the season on a high note. But Leonard’s dad had never shown up._  
_His mom and Nana took him out for ice cream, a rare treat to have before dinner, but even his favorite chocolate fudge ripple didn’t taste as good as it usually did. When they got home, his mom told him to shower while she made spaghetti with meatballs, another of his favorites. As he came down the stairs, cleaned up and in his pajamas, he heard his dad’s car pulling into the driveway, the soft hum of the engine turning off a moment later. Ordinarily Leonard was glad to have his dad home, but today it was just... too late._  
_“Hey, Lenny,” his dad said as soon as he walked in the door. “Sorry I couldn’t make it — I had a patient take a turn for the worse. We had to do emergency surgery, and it was touch and go for a while, but we got him through. So, how was your game?”_  
_“You_ promised _,” burst out of Leonard’s mouth before he could stop it. “You promised you’d make it! And you didn’t make it a_ single time! _”_  
_“I know, Len, and I’m sorry, but I have to take care of people’s lives. That patient might have died if I hadn’t stayed to help him—”_  
_“I don’t care!” Leonard shouted. “I don’t care if your stupid patient dies! You promised to come—”_  
_The most startling thing in Leonard’s young life happened at that moment: his dad slapped him, hard, across the face, knocking him to the floor._  
_“Don’t you ever talk like that, young man!” His dad’s voice was low and rumbling, menacing. “You don’t know how good you have it! There are kids your age in the hospital, sick and even dying, while you get to go out and play with your friends. Don’t you dare pretend that your convenience is more important than someone else’s life! Do you understand?”_  
_Leonard could not answer, too stunned to think. His dad leaned down to haul him off the floor and shook him._  
_“I asked you a question! Do you understand? Your wants are not important compared to people’s lives!”_  
_“David! Stop it — you’re scaring him,” his mom intervened._  
_“I should damn well think I am! What have you been doing, letting him talk like that? If you didn’t spoil him all the time—”_  
_“I am_ not _spoiling him! If you were ever around, you would know that!”_  
_His dad released him to stand up and respond to his mom; Leonard saw his chance and escaped, running up the stairs to his room and locking his door. Then he curled into a ball under his blankets where he finally allowed himself to cry, hurt and confused. “But he_ promised _,” he repeated to himself, unable to comprehend why he had been slapped when he was not the one who had broken his promise. He cried so hard that he grew sick to his stomach and had to rush into his bathroom to throw up the ice cream, but he still couldn’t stop the tears. When someone pressed the chime at his bedroom door, he did not hear it at first._  
_“Lenny, it’s me,” his mom’s voice came through the intercom. “Won’t you have some dinner?”_  
_“I d—don’ wanna!” he said, hiccupping._  
_“Oh, Lenny.... Will you let me in?”_  
_He considered refusing, but then again his mom would never hurt him. He crept to the door to enter the lock code. She knelt and gathered him into her arms before he could protest._  
_“I’m sorry, Lenny.... Daddy should not have hit you.”_  
_She held him while he let the last of his tears fall, then washed his face — horrified to learn that he’d been sick — and took him downstairs for a late spaghetti dinner._  
_“Where’s Dad?” Leonard asked, worried that he might be struck again._  
_“He’s not here. He’s... at Nana’s.” His mom’s face looked like someone had pinched her. “I told him not to come back until he’s ready to make things right with you. But there are some things that you and I need to talk about too. Like how important life is.”_  
_After his mom had talked to him, he understood why his dad had been so angry — what Leonard had said that had been so wrong._  
_“I didn’t mean it,” he told her, “and I’ll never say it again.”_  
_“I know you didn’t, sweetie,” she assured him. “Maybe we should go visit some of the children in the hospital. That way you’ll understand why Daddy’s work is so important.”_  
_Leonard thought this was a good idea, so a few days later they went to the children’s ward with a few stuffed animals as presents. He met two boys around his own age — one who was learning to walk on his new artificial feet and another who had to stay inside a sealed tent to protect his weakened immune system. It was an experience Leonard would never forget._  
_But his dad didn’t have time to come see him at the hospital, either._

Spock pulled away, breaking the meld, since he sensed McCoy’s deep sadness. Returning to the present reality, he saw tears streaming down the man’s face, which he leaned in to kiss away.

“Leonard... what is it?” he asked, stroking his temples.

“Just... thinking of what might have been,” McCoy mumbled. “What different choices I could have made....”

“You were only a child; you couldn’t have understood.”

“I was a brat. I didn’t even know how spoiled I was.” He sighed, then pulled Spock into a tight embrace.

“Leonard... if this is too hard... we can stop.”

Immediately Spock realized that this was the wrong thing to say, since McCoy’s thoughts became self-taunting: _“See, he doesn’t want to deal with your shit either — you stupid crybaby! No wonder everybody leaves you behind; no one wants to listen to your whining!”_

“Leonard!” Spock said sharply to get his attention. “I _do_ want to know the rest of it — all of it — and I’m not going to give up on you. But I don’t want to hurt you by forcing you to relive the most painful moments of your life. If you don’t want to do this now, we can continue some other time.” Spock rubbed his cheek against McCoy’s and returned his embrace, wishing he knew of more effective ways to comfort a Human. However, his reassurances seemed to work. After a moment of consideration, McCoy let out a long sigh.

“No... go ahead. I’d rather get this over with.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”


	22. Memory Meld 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the angst... I think there will just be one more chapter with these flashbacks.

Spock reconnected with McCoy’s mind and started to relive his childhood again, flitting through his memories like a bird flying through a changing landscape but seeing everything through McCoy’s eyes and feeling his emotions also.

_Leonard refused to play in Little League the next year, and his mother did not force the issue. It was simply too hard for him to watch the other kids’ fathers come to cheer them on when he knew his own would never show up. In fact he saw less and less of his father even at home; on the rare occasions when he did get home from the hospital before Leonard’s bedtime, it seemed he was always too tired or too grumpy to pay attention to him. Then one day Leonard came home from school to find several things missing from the house — little, inconspicuous things like his dad’s reading glasses that had always been on the side table in the living room and his running shoes that had been tucked under the mudroom bench. His mom was baking cookies and had talked cheerfully as he’d walked through the kitchen, but after noticing the missing items, Leonard looked closer to see that his mom’s face was puffy and red like she’d been crying. He didn’t ask her what had happened; he thought he knew but didn’t want to know for sure.  
He did find out soon enough, though. His mom explained that his dad had gone to live with Nana because Nana was getting older and needed somebody to help around her house. Leonard fought with himself to keep from pointing out that his dad was always at the hospital and so couldn’t possibly be of any help to Nana. He did, however, offer to help Nana in any way he could. His mom beamed at him and said he could go over on the weekends and help Nana in her garden. Leonard accepted this arrangement without comment; he knew this was what happened when parents got divorced — something he’d heard about from several of his classmates. He didn’t like it, of course, but since his dad had started staying at Nana’s from the day Leonard had said he wanted his dad’s patient to die, Leonard felt like this was all his fault. He didn’t say anything to his mom because he knew she would try to make him feel better and he was pretty sure it wouldn’t work._

A tear slowly made its way down Spock’s cheek but he did not break the meld.

 _Leonard hardly ever saw his dad at Nana’s place and he never asked where he was. Sometimes he caught a glimpse of Nana looking at him with a sad expression and would pretend to not notice. If he could, he would do something silly or say something funny to cheer her up. He didn’t want her to feel sad on his account. It wasn’t her fault that he’d been a bad boy — so bad that his dad didn’t want to be around him anymore._  
_One Friday he got off the bus at Nana’s but she wasn’t standing in the doorway like she usually was. He ran up to the house but the door was locked. At least he knew the lock code and could let himself in. He went through the rooms, calling for her, and finally went down into the basement to see if she was in the pantry. She was — on the cement floor, lying in an unnatural position, not moving. Leonard quickly checked her pulse, then fumbled with his communicator to call Emergency._  
_“My Nana’s on the basement floor, unresponsive, with a weak pulse,” he told the operator. “Her breathing is shallow and her hands are cold. Please send a medical team, quick!”_  
_The response team beamed over to the front door and followed his frantic cries into the basement, where they assessed the situation and pulled up Nana’s medical file. While a woman tried to lead Leonard away to give the others enough room in the pantry to work on her, Leonard overheard one technician say, “She has a DNR order on file.” The other responded, “She’s still breathing, dammit! We have to do everything we can.”_  
_Leonard watched as they gently moved her onto a biobed. When the woman suggested to Leonard that they go upstairs, he shook his head. “My dad’s a doctor. I’m used to seeing medical procedures,” he lied. In fact he had watched one surgery out of curiosity and had felt sick to his stomach at the sight of blood and exposed internal organs; however, he was compelled to stay and observe everything, though he could not explain why. He saw one medic heal the hematoma on her brain, but he also saw that there was a large dark area of the brain where its activity had been disrupted by the injury. He heard the other medic say her blood levels were off and needed several medicines to be corrected. He watched as they called her name in an attempt to rouse her back to consciousness. He listened to her heartrate gradually weaken, stutter, then fail altogether...._  
_“We’ve lost her,” the lead medic sighed. The man turned and saw Leonard standing there, wide-eyed, and came to kneel in front of him. “I’m sorry, kid,” he said with a sober expression. “We did what we could, but with a Do Not Resuscitate order, we can’t do anything once her heart stops beating. Do you understand?”_  
_Leonard nodded. He knew what a DNR order was — he just didn’t understand why Nana had one._  
_“Do you have any other family?” the doctor was asking him. “Or is it just the two of you here?”_  
_“My dad... he should have gotten the alert when I called,” Leonard said, “but if he’s in surgery, he wouldn’t be able to leave in the middle of it.”_  
_“Your dad’s a doctor?”_  
_Leonard nodded again. “David McCoy.”_  
_“Oh, God! Best damn surgeon around. And I gotta tell him we couldn’t save his mother,” the man muttered._  
_“Why did Nana have a DNR?” Leonard asked. “She wasn’t sick.”_  
_“I don’t know, kid... I’d have to take a closer look at her chart. Your dad could tell you better than I could.”_  
_Leonard bit his lip and scuffed his toe on the cement floor. “He’s never home before I go to bed.”_  
_The doctor exchanged glances with the woman. “Hey, kid... you got any other family?”_  
_“Yeah, my mom. I’ll call her... let her know.” Leonard realized only then that he was still gripping his communicator and that the call was still on with the dispatcher. “Hi... um, thank you,” he told her before hanging up. When he called his mom and heard her voice, he burst out crying at last. The doctor pried the communicator from his hands and briefly explained the situation to his mom, then passed the comm back to Leonard so he could hear his mom assure him that she was coming right away. The rest of the day was a blur, although he was vaguely aware of his father arriving, still wearing surgical scrubs._

Spock was weeping when he slipped out of the meld. He was surprised to find McCoy dry-eyed and stoic.

“Why did she have a DNR?” Spock asked.

“She’d had a bout with Calstan’s Syndrome, a genetic type of brain tumor that has a high risk of recurring, back before I was born,” McCoy answered. “But what knocked her out that day was a simple imbalance in her blood sugar — she hadn’t eaten anything that morning. I don’t know if she just forgot or what.... Then when she fell, she hit her head pretty badly.... I didn’t find her until it was too late. She’d been lying there for hours. Even if they’d kept her alive, so much of her brain was already damaged... she would have needed months of therapy, and even then she might never have recovered completely.”

Spock kissed McCoy’s face all over, not knowing how else he might express his sympathy. McCoy did not meet his gaze but slipped his arms around him, pulling him closer, so perhaps it was helping in a small way.

“Do you wish to continue?” Spock asked, pressing their cheeks together.

“Sure... yeah,” McCoy answered. “If you want to.”

Spock continued to hold him with one arm while connecting to his psi points with his free hand. By now he was confident that the link between them was strong enough to be sustained by only a few fingers.

 _After Nana died, Leonard didn’t go to her house on the weekends anymore. He knew it would be pointless since his dad was never there, anyway, but it still came as a shock when he found out that his dad had moved into an apartment near the hospital and sold the house. His mom was working now, while he was at school, and seemed to be enjoying it. They swapped stories over dinner every weekday and on weekends they went to visit Grandma and Grandpa — his mom’s parents — who had moved back Earthside when Grandpa retired. Then one weekend his mom took him to his grandparents’ place but didn’t stay. She blushed and avoided answering his questions before leaving, but Grandpa was more forthright._  
_“He’s old enough to know,” he told Grandma before addressing Leonard directly: “She’s going out on a date.”_  
_The statement left Leonard feeling numb. He was still at an age where he considered girls to be infested with cooties, so the thought of his mom kissing and making out with someone turned his stomach. He didn’t have an appetite at all for dinner but, knowing Grandma had made his favorite fried chicken and mashed potatoes just for him, he forced himself to eat and even smile. He stayed awake long after his bedtime, propped against the window by his bed, wondering why she had to date anybody at all — why he wasn’t enough to make her happy. He fell asleep on the window as he waited, only to be woken by Grandpa moving him back into bed._  
_“You need someone to tuck you in?” Grandpa asked, teasing._  
_“No! I’m not a baby,” Leonard protested hotly, his face flushed._  
_He slept fitfully the rest of the night, stirring at every sound, but his mom didn’t come back until close to noon. They had gone rather far on their date, she explained with chagrin once she found that the proverbial cat was out of the bag._  
_She introduced him to Leonard not long after, and they continued to date for a while — almost every weekend, leaving Leonard at his grandparents. He saw how happy his mom was and knew it would be selfish to not want her to be happy, but he couldn’t pretend to be happy about it. The best he could do was act nonchalant, like it was no big deal since he wasn’t a little kid anymore. The guy (his name was Arthur) sometimes brought him books and toys, which Leonard accepted with mediocre enthusiasm. He even suggested that Leonard come along with them, and the first time Leonard agreed since they were going to a science museum that sounded interesting. But when Leonard turned back to point something out at one of the exhibits, he saw his mom and Arthur giggling and making eyes at each other and thought he might literally throw up. He declined their invitations after that, no matter how hard his mom tried to persuade him._  
_He wasn’t surprised when she announced that they were getting married, showing him the diamond ring Arthur had given her on bended knee. It still made him gag but he wasn’t about to make a fuss. However, when she asked him if he would let Arthur adopt him — change his last name and everything — Leonard had to draw the line. “_ You’re _the one getting married to him, not me!” he declared, and that was the end of that discussion._  
_The wedding was planned for the summer, and until then Leonard was bombarded by wedding preparations that his mom wanted to tell him about. He tried to bear it with good grace as much as possible but had to remind her on more than one occasion that since it wasn’t_ his _wedding, he had no opinion on what colors the flowers should be. He was actually relieved when the day arrived, even more relieved when he was able to shuck off the tuxedo that he’d had to wear for the ceremony and reception, and then he told himself that he was relieved when his mom left with Arthur on a two-week honeymoon._  
_“I’m never getting married,” he confided to Grandpa._  
 _“That’s what I said too,” Grandpa replied before downing his bourbon._  
 _It took Leonard a while to get used to living with Arthur, although he had to admit the guy was nice enough. He even tried to help Leonard with his homework. He was an engineer so he did know a thing or two about math. Then Arthur got a big promotion — one that required him to move. Leonard’s mom carefully explained it all to him and offered him a choice: move with them to Iceland or stay with his grandparents. Leonard chose to stay since he didn’t want to leave his friends and change schools in the middle of the year. He was also playing soccer in a junior league now and had just made the starting lineup. So technically, Leonard knew_ he _was the one breaking away from his mom; but it still felt like he had lost her to Arthur. He helped her pack and also packed his own things to move in with his grandparents. When she kept grabbing him and hugging him out of the blue, he protested — after all, he was almost a teenager — but he didn’t struggle too much to get out of her grip. Arthur moved first to get their apartment ready; she followed a few days after. When her transport shuttle actually left the airport, the reality hit Leonard, but it was too late. Plus he was not about to cry in front of his grandparents._


	23. Memory Meld 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry! It's more angst!

McCoy seemed to be getting a handle on the mind melding process — the next scene he chose to show Spock himself. He was a gangly young teenager, sitting in an office reception area.

 _“This was_ such _a bad idea,” Leonard thought as he checked the time on his PADD again. It was already fifteen minutes past the hour and still no sign of his dad. He had debated with himself for days before finally calling his dad’s office and setting up this appointment with his secretary. Leonard had a project for school — a paper based on an interview with someone whose profession he was interested in — and since he’d always scored high in life sciences and chemistry, medicine seemed to be the obvious choice. Which also made his dad the most obvious person to interview. Now he was regretting his harebrained idea._  
 _A woman walked into the lobby and approached him._  
 _“Hi, Leonard,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I’m Helen; we spoke earlier. I’m afraid your father’s last surgery is running a bit late. They had some complications.”  
“Just my luck,” Leonard thought silently. Aloud he only said, “I understand.”  
“Why don’t you come with me to the lounge? We have coffee... or coke if you prefer.”  
He followed her without comment and wondered how much of his allotted hour would actually be spent with his dad. When she offered to buy him a coke, though, he grinned and offered to buy her a drink instead.  
“You charmer, you!” she laughed. “Apple didn’t fall far from the tree, did it?” Then she left to check on the status of the surgery. Leonard sipped his coke while working on his paper; since it didn’t seem like he’d have much time to interview his dad, he started making the answers multiple choice.  
When the clock hit 16:30, however, he changed his strategy altogether and began answering the interview questions the way he assumed his dad would. It wasn’t hard and his teacher wouldn’t know the difference, anyway. He was so engrossed in his work that he didn’t even check the time again until someone walked into the lounge — an older man in a suit, not his dad — and it was 16:52 already. Leonard bit his lip, furious at his dad _ and _at himself for thinking this would work. He put his PADD away, then tossed the empty coke can into the recycling chute. Just as he started walking toward the turbolift, Helen came in from the other side and called to him.  
“Leonard! I’m so sorry, he’s been delayed. It’s not going well.”  
“I figured,” he replied with a shrug. “Tell him not to worry about it.” Leonard turned and muttered under his breath, “I won’t ever bother him again.”  
He punched the button to summon the turbolift and was startled to see that the man in the suit had followed him, no doubt heading home as well, but the man had a stricken, haunted look on his face. Leonard realized that he must have overheard his last comment.  
“Are you... David’s son? Dr. McCoy’s?”  
“Yeah,” Leonard answered testily. Right now he didn’t feel like it at all.  
“I... I’m so sorry,” the man stammered, then was interrupted by the lift arriving. Leonard walked in and the man joined him before continuing, “I assigned your father to that surgery.... I knew it would be a difficult one, but David — your dad — was the best qualified to do it. He didn’t want to... he even asked me to reassign it, but I... I told him he was the logical choice.”  
“Yeah, sure — he’s the best surgeon around, right?” Leonard said sardonically.  
“I—I didn’t know — he didn’t tell me he was meeting you,” the man tried to explain, but Leonard had run out of patience.  
“Forget it! You actually did him a favor,” he said as he got off the lift. “You saved him the hassle of finding another excuse to avoid me!”  
He hadn’t meant it to come out quite so harshly — or loudly. Leonard felt his cheeks flush as several people on the sidewalk glanced at him.  
“No, wait! Please,” the man pleaded, trotting to catch up to Leonard as he stalked toward the shuttle station. “He really didn’t want to do that one — we all knew it could have serious complications and might take extra time. I’m sorry I didn’t reassign it like he asked me to. He’s never asked before, so I should have known he had an important reason—”  
Leonard snorted with derision. “Yeah, right! If it were important, he would’ve tried harder to get out of it. He just decided that his patient’s life was more important than me. It always is.”  
“No, it’s not! I _ know _it’s not — he’s told me all about you, Leonard.” The man grabbed Leonard’s jacket sleeve to pull him to a stop. “He wants to get to know you better. He knows he hasn’t been there for you like he should’ve in the past few years but... he just doesn’t know where to start. If you would give him a chance—”  
“Bullshit!” The word burst out of Leonard’s mouth before he could stop it. At home he would’ve gotten yelled at by his grandparents; it was liberating to realize that there was nobody here who could scold him or tell on him. “He’s never had any goddamn time for me, so why should he fucking want to start now?”  
“But he _ does _,” the man insisted. “He always has, he simply... didn’t know how to prioritize things. Look,” he started anew, bending down to match Leonard’s eye level, “I can rearrange his schedule, make sure his evenings and weekends are cleared so he can spend more time—”  
“Are you fucking _ shitting _me?” Leonard yelled, his voice breaking mid-phrase. “If you demote him like that on_ my _account, he’ll only hate me more! Just leave me alone. Leave my dad the hell alone. He’s fucked things up well enough on his own — he doesn’t need your help to make it worse!”_  
_Leonard stormed away, never looking back at the man. At least it felt better to be angry than to admit how disappointed he was._

Spock waited while McCoy quickly selected another memory to show him. This time he was on a soccer field at the end of a game, a few days after the previous scene.

 _Leonard managed to get the ball from the opposing team and passed it to his buddy Dan, who dribbled it up the side before kicking it to Shaundé, the captain, who trapped it neatly before feinting around his guard. A moment later he shot it past the goalie to the tumultuous roar of the home crowd. Leonard and his teammates chest-bumped in exultation, then held off their opponent for the last four minutes of the game, sealing their victory. They were boisterous in the locker room, anticipating the post-game party. Leonard was laughing and joking, too, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw his dad waiting for him outside.  
“Hey, Lenny,” his dad said with an awkward, forced smile. “Great game.”  
Leonard could not form any words for a moment. Dan came to his rescue with a wisecrack.  
“Who’s the old guy, Len? Your boyfriend?”  
“Shut up, Dan!” he retorted, though without rancor. “He’s old enough to be my dad — that _ is _my dad.”  
“No way!” Joey put in. “I thought he was dead?”  
“Must be a zombie,” someone else added, starting a chorus of “Ooo, brains!” all around.  
“Uh...” his dad began, obviously smarting from the implication, “I thought maybe I could take you home?”  
“We’re going to Joey’s for pizza,” Leonard told him, still somewhat stunned. “I’m staying there tonight.”  
“Oh... all right. Maybe some other time, then.”  
“Yeah, sure... whatever,” Leonard mumbled as he walked past. He was glad his friends didn’t tease him about being called “Lenny” or ask about his dad that evening.  
He was confused when his dad started showing up at a lot of his games after that, even offering to take him places — to actually _ do _things with him — on the weekends. Leonard finally told his grandparents about it, and they were just as startled as he was but suggested that he allow his father to make up for lost time. It was awkward to be with someone he hardly knew, but one Sunday, during a long drive back from an amusement park (which Leonard hadn’t really enjoyed), he pulled out the draft of his old paper and started asking his dad the questions from the interview. He had gotten a few of them right, it turned out, but he was more interested in the ones he hadn’t. Leonard surprised himself by how much he actually was interested in medicine; it seemed to please his father, and they got along better after that — perhaps because they had a common interest they could talk about._

This went on for a while. McCoy fast-forwarded through the times he spent with his father, giving Spock fleeting glimpses of shared activities and laughter. He skimmed through the holidays when his mom and Arthur came back to stay at his grandparents’ house, which was pleasant but mostly uneventful — except for the professional-quality scanning microscope that his dad sent him as a present. He then slowed down the images to focus on a diner a few months later.

_While they were eating burgers and fries, his dad told Leonard that he was moving off-planet to take a new job as the chief surgeon of a hospital on Rigel V. He even invited Leonard to come with him. Leonard promised to think about it, but he had balked at moving to Iceland — and Rigel V was exponentially further away. It didn’t take much thought for him to decline. His dad promised to stay in touch and, to Leonard’s astonishment, he did. It wasn’t the same, though, as having him around to talk to and go places together. Leonard sometimes wished he hadn’t gotten to know his dad if it meant he missed him so much more when he was gone._

Spock tried to express his sympathy through their link, which McCoy seemed to understand. He began showing the next significant memory from a few years later, in his junior year of high school.

 _Leonard had just settled into his assigned seat for Physics when a girl he didn’t know sat in the seat next to him.  
“Hi, I’m Nancy,” she said with a shy but winsome smile.  
“I’m Len... Leonard,” he replied, debating for a brief moment whether to shake her hand or not. The bell sounded, sparing him the dilemma.  
He found out later through the grapevine that she had transferred in that year. She caught his eye whenever they passed in the halls and it was all he could do to not stare at her during Physics class. She was pretty, of course, but there was something else — some other quality about her — that captured his attention. After a few weeks he decided that the best word for it was “sweet”: she was honest and genuine and kind through and through, as sweet as a Georgia peach.  
One day when he was eating in the cafeteria with his buddies, a group of girls sat on the other end of the table. Nancy came in a little late and had to take the chair closest to the boys — right next to Leonard. He swallowed, his heart thumping in his throat, and shot her what he hoped was a nonchalant smile. He turned back then to his lunch and pulled out the bag of fruit his grandma always included. Today it was a pair of plums. On an impulse, he held one of them out to Nancy and asked, “Would you like a peach?”  
Startled, she looked at the fruit in his hand. “I think that’s a plum.”  
Leonard felt his face flush as dark red as the plum. “Uh...” was all that came out.  
“Thank you,” Nancy said, smiling that sweet smile of hers as she took the fruit from his slightly sweaty hand. “I love plums.”  
“D—Don’t mention it,” he stuttered. When he looked back at his friends, they were all choking on their laughter. Joey even snorted his milk. “Oh, stuff it!” he growled at them under his breath, making them laugh even harder. He left the cafeteria with his ears burning and hurled the remaining plum into his locker.  
His friends teased him for weeks, of course, but they also encouraged him to ask her out.  
“Just do it, Len!” Dan told him, poking him in the ribs. “Nobody else will, now that they know _ you’re _into her.”  
“I... what?” Leonard asked in dismay.  
“Aww, come on! Everybody knows by now. You always act like a total loon when she’s around, and then you gave her a plum and called it a peach....” Dan spread out his hands expressively. “It’s pretty obvious you’re smitten. Smitten as a kitten in a mitten. Besides, I could swear she has a thing for you too.”  
“What?” he demanded, shocked but eager.  
“Yeah! She smiles at you a lot... although that could be because she thinks you’re _ challenged _or something.”  
Despite the ensuing battle in which Leonard succeeded in tickling Dan’s ribs until he cried uncle, the suggestion gave Leonard enough courage to ask Nancy to a school dance — but not until a full three months later. And since his tongue seemed to swell up and trip on even simple words whenever she was around, he decided to take a safer route and write his question on a piece of paper, which he slipped onto her desk when the Physics teacher wasn’t looking. He stared down at his PADD, not daring to see her reaction, until the paper reappeared on his desk with “I would love to!” added to it. He gasped in relief and was immediately called up front to solve the next vector problem (which he botched) but he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face for the rest of the day.  
His grandparents were excited for him, and Grandma asked him if he wanted to coordinate his outfit with Nancy’s, so he asked her what color her dress would be.  
“Plum,” she answered, her eyes dancing with amusement.  
Leonard was stricken speechless for a moment, then he heaved a sigh.  
“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”  
“Live what down?” she teased.  
“I only called it a peach because... well, because _ you’re _a Georgia peach,” he mumbled._  
_It was Nancy’s turn to be speechless._  
_“Oh, Len! That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she replied at last, blushing to a lovely rose hue. “You’re really the sweetest boy. As sweet as a plum.” When she giggled, Leonard couldn’t help laughing along._  
_They dated the rest of the school year, a shy relationship whose highlights were holding hands while walking her dog and chaste kisses at her doorstep under her parents’ watchful eyes. They called each other every day while she was traveling with her family during the summer, then picked right up when school started. All through their senior year, they were a couple._  
_Then the difficult decisions had to be made: Leonard had a scholarship to the University of Mississippi but Nancy had her heart set on Stanford._  
_“Why California, though?” Leonard asked, trying hard not to sound distraught. “It’s so far.”_  
_“I love it out there! The weather is wonderful and it’s right by the ocean,” Nancy told him. “You could come out to visit sometime.”_  
_“Maybe,” he’d answered, not entirely without hope. They promised to at least write if they couldn’t call due to conflicts in their schedule. Leonard was disappointed when Nancy’s family decided to vacation in Hawaii over the holidays, which meant he wouldn’t see her until the next summer; his pre-med courses were so demanding that he had to catch up on his research papers during spring break._  
_Then before the end of the school year, he got a lengthy email from Nancy that made his stomach sink into the ground. She had met someone, a bright upperclassman at Stanford who shared her interest in archaeology and had been persistent in asking her out. Leonard could barely finish reading the letter; then it took every last ounce of his willpower to write back a polite, understanding reply. It was the hardest thing he had ever had to do._


	24. A Welcome Home

Spock pulled out of the meld gently, his eyes overflowing with tears. The depths of pain he had experienced through McCoy had hollowed him, leaving only an aching void.

 _“This is the pit of despair he hides,”_ Spock realized. _“As relentless as a black hole, allowing no escape — not even light can exist within its event horizon.”_

“Aw, Spock... don’t,” McCoy begged, wiping Spock’s wet cheeks with his thumbs. “You know I can’t stand to see you cry....”

“I only weep for you... for all the loss you have suffered.”

“Everybody loses people,” McCoy responded automatically. “I’m just... a little more unlucky than most.”

“Yes... you have lost many.” Spock leaned close to press his cheek against McCoy’s, wrapping his arms around McCoy’s shoulders. The warmth of their bare bodies touching under the blankets was comforting, especially where McCoy’s arms cradled his back. “Where are your parents now?”

“Dad’s still on Rigel V... Mom’s in Oslo with Arthur. They’ve moved around a bit for his work. I try to see them whenever I go Earthside. Grandma’s been living with them since Grandpa died. At least she’s still doing great — still cooking like it’s going out of style. Last I heard, she was teaching a class.”

“She taught you how to cook as well.” Spock smiled at the images conjured up in McCoy’s mind of his grandmother wearing an apron, showing him how to roll out pie dough. Happy memories.

“Yeah. She might just flip her lid if I tell her I made her gravy without real sausage, though.”

“Then that can be our secret.” Spock noticed an unruly patch of McCoy’s hair and ran his fingers through it. “It may not be wise to upset her at her advanced age.”

“Yeah... you’re probably right.”

McCoy leaned into the touch, deriving pleasure from it, so Spock continued to comb his hair. He realized he enjoyed the sensation as well. McCoy’s hair was soft and long enough to play with but short enough not to become tangled. Nyota had been particular about how he touched her hair — which reminded Spock about McCoy’s failed marriage.

“And after all this loss,” he murmured, close to tears again, “you lost yet another: your wife.”

The pain that shot through his chest was only an echo of what McCoy was feeling since their link was not complete, but it was enough to knock the breath out of Spock’s lungs. This time Spock had to wipe the tears from McCoy’s face.

“You wanna... see that part... too?” McCoy asked between ragged breaths, his expression grim.

“Only if you want me to,” Spock answered. Even before McCoy licked his lips and closed his eyes, opening himself up for another meld, Spock could sense that he _did_ want him to see — he wanted Spock to share in that experience as well. Spock repositioned his fingers and effortlessly slipped into McCoy’s mind.

 _Leonard was reviewing a patient’s chart, double-checking to make sure the doses of medications were optimal, when another doctor walked into his office.  
“I was about to punch out when I saw that you were pulling a double shift. Again,” she said pointedly.  
“I have five patients in post-op recovery, three of them critical,” Leonard shot back without looking up from his PADD. “I’m staying to keep an eye on them.”  
“How many double shifts have you pulled this week? Are you even _ legal? _”  
“Of course I am — the damn computer wouldn’t let me schedule if I were over the limit.”  
“Well, I know I haven’t put in nearly as many hours as you, and I don’t have any plans tonight. I’ll monitor your post-ops. I’ll even call you if something happens to them. But you need to go home, McCoy. This isn’t healthy!”  
“I’m perfectly capable...” Leonard began but stopped when he saw her determined, stone-faced gaze. “What? I’m fine!”  
“No, you are not ‘fine,’ McCoy — you’re avoiding Cynthia because you don’t want to deal with the last fight you had or start a new one. But avoiding your problems isn’t going to solve them.”  
“So... what the hell do you want me to do? Just leave my patients and go home?”  
“Yes! And take some flowers or chocolate or whatever with you. Get this thing with your wife figured out and _ fixed _. Your performance will be better if you’re actually refreshed when you get back here. Now_ go! _” She emphasized her words by making shooing motions with her hands. Leonard reluctantly stood up._  
_“You’re a damn pain in the ass — you know that, Harper?”_  
_“Damn straight.” She smirked. “About the only thing about me that’s straight.”_  
_Leonard groaned. “All right, I’m going, I’m going! But I’m gonna start calling you ‘Dr. Ruth’ from now on.”_  
_“Who?”_  
_“Never mind.”_  
_He stopped by the hospital gift shop to pick up a bouquet of flowers, realizing that it had been a long time since he’d done anything spontaneous or romantic for Cynthia. Which was why he also decided not to call her but to surprise her instead. During the drive home, he couldn’t help replaying some of the vicious words they had exchanged the last time they’d been together, and he wished he could unsay his own. They simply knew each other too well — knew how to get under each other’s skin and say exactly the things that would hurt the most. But he wanted to make this work._  
_“I need to de-stress somehow... just because work is crazy right now, I shouldn’t take it out on her. I need to apologize for being a jerk. If we could talk things over, figure out a way to get past this point... once the hospital hires a permanent chief of surgery, things will get back to normal....”_  
_He took a deep breath when his car was parked in the garage, resolving to apologize to her until she was willing to talk rationally about their future. He was surprised when he walked into the house and she wasn’t in the living room or kitchen; he had expected her to be sulky but not to avoid him altogether. Their driveway was long so he couldn’t imagine that she hadn’t seen him drive in._  
_“Maybe she’s in the shower,” he thought as he trudged up the stairs. He stepped through the doorway of their bedroom with the flowers in one hand, only to drop them when he saw Cynthia in bed — with another man. In the very act of adultery._  
_She saw Leonard and cried out, alerting her lover, who turned around in time to meet Leonard’s fist. After that his rage distorted the memory, making it a blur of shouted words, among them “whore” and “bastard” playing major roles. Leonard prepared to punch the other man again as he struggled to stand, but then the guy threw up both hands in surrender, yelling, “I didn’t know she was married!”_  
_For some reason that took the wind out of Leonard’s sails, deflating his fury. “She’s not — not anymore,” he managed to spit out. “If you want the bitch, you can have her.” He turned on his heel and rushed out of the house, not bothering to collect any of his personal effects, and drove back into town. He thought about going to the hospital, but he couldn’t face his colleagues to explain why he had returned. He also didn’t think he could sleep worth a damn even if he checked into a hotel. So he found a bar in the older, sleazier side of town and sat at the counter, intending to get shit-faced drunk. At least in that, he succeeded._

Spock’s hands were shaking as he removed them from McCoy’s face. All manner of powerful emotions were coursing through him — rage, pain, sadness, loneliness — in the wake of experiencing the worst moment of McCoy’s life, but they were also echoed by Spock’s own feelings of outrage and shock. He could not even speak because of the turmoil in his heart, but McCoy himself was strangely calm.

“So... you can actually _see_ everything... just like I saw it?” he asked after a moment. Spock nodded, swallowing back tears. “Good.” McCoy drew in a deep breath as though relieved. “I’ve gone over and over that night in my head, driving myself crazy with all the ‘what ifs’ — what if I hadn’t gone home? Would I have never found out and just stayed with her, oblivious? Would things have gotten better? Would she have kept cheating on me or would she have stopped? Or would she have wanted the divorce anyway, sooner or later? What if, what if....” He drew a hand over his eyes. “In a way I’m glad it was so... explicit. Sorry if it was embarrassing for you, but it is what it is. And it helped me make a clean break, you know? Maybe we should have broken up much sooner. Maybe she should have just left me; maybe I should have realized it wasn’t working... that it was never going to work. But at least that moment was... _definitive_.”

Spock nodded again and combed his fingers through McCoy’s hair while placing a line of kisses on his cheek where there should have been tears — where there _had_ been tears, many times, when Spock was not aware of them. Now he could sense a sort of numbness pervading his lover, no doubt a consequence of McCoy re-hashing that event countless times, but there was also a sense of gladness settling over him.

“Thanks for putting up with all this,” McCoy said quietly.

“I am honored that you have entrusted me with your memories,” Spock replied. “I’m sorry to have made you relive them... and the pain they caused you... but I understand you much better now.”

McCoy smiled and hugged Spock tightly for a moment. “Don’t be sorry. Have you heard the old Earth proverb, ‘Shared joy is doubled; shared sorrow is halved’? I sorta feel better already. Maybe it’s closer to ‘Misery loves company,’ but I don’t think so. I haven’t told many people the particulars of my divorce... Jim is one of the few... but it’s one thing to _tell_ someone and a whole ’nuther to have them _see_ it. Almost like having video evidence as opposed to a witness’s testimony, y’know? You’ve seen it with your own eyes, practically — at least through mine — so you _know_  I’m not making it up. And it was almost easier than trying to describe it.”

“Yes.” Spock shifted so he could kiss the other side of McCoy’s face. More than a vague notion that this was an appropriate way to comfort a Human lover in distress, he _knew_ now that McCoy was deriving comfort from his ministrations. He slid his hands out of McCoy’s hair and ran them down his back, as low as they could go, pressing their bare chests together.

“You know, that guy... Frank... he came to see me at the hospital a few days later,” McCoy said with a snorted chuckle. “He wanted to apologize. Said he really hadn’t known she was married — thought it was her parents’ house when she said she’d be alone that night. He’d only met her a few weeks before... they’d hit it off, gone out a couple of times... and of course I was none the wiser, working ’round the clock like I was. He said he was prepared to break it off with her if I wanted to try to save our marriage, but I told him no... there was no way I was taking her back after that. He wasn’t happy about the fact that she’d lied to him, either, but he was willing to give her a second chance. Amazingly enough, they’re still together... so I guess there was something special between the two of them, after all.”

The longing in McCoy’s voice was reinforced by a pang of pain in his chest. Spock could almost taste the bitter gall that rose up from his gorge at the acute sense of betrayal.

“You loved her,” he stated, sad and (in a way) jealous.

“Yeah. Like the dumbass I was,” McCoy huffed in derision. “I hadn’t really... well, I hadn’t even gotten to first base with Nancy — her parents were strict, and I wasn’t about to do anything to blow my chances with her — so I was one of the few guys in college who was still, y’know... _inexperienced_.”

Spock could not help feeling amused that McCoy, despite being a Human doctor, was shy about discussing sex; however, since it was a topic not broached at all by Vulcans, Spock only made a sympathetic “Mmm” sound in response.

“Even after I got that ‘Dear John’ letter, I didn’t feel like jumping into the pool with both feet... at least not right away. I mean, maybe there were more guys like me than I realized and they were just hiding it with machismo, but I sure felt like an ignoramus compared to everybody else. So even into my second year, I hadn’t seriously dated anybody... I just wasn’t confident enough to get that far. But then I met Cynthia and... wow. She actually _wanted_ me. Like, couldn’t keep her hands off me... which was such a new thing for me, it just blew my mind. And before I knew what was happening, we were in the thick of it.”

McCoy licked his lips as he considered how to proceed. Even before he spoke, Spock could feel his apology.

“I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable,” he mumbled, blushing.

“Not at all,” Spock assured him. “I want to know everything about you, Leonard. There is something you want to tell me — I want to hear it.”

“Well, I know this sounds corny and all,” McCoy prefaced, “but when she wanted me to... to make love with her, I thought it was more than just sex.... Maybe she only wanted my body or maybe she thought it was something more, too, but... I had never felt so wanted... so _welcomed_. Like I’d finally found my _home_.”

Spock could feel that sensation through McCoy’s skin; they were touching in enough places that he did not need to be in contact with his psi points to absorb his remembered joy at being appreciated, loved, and cherished.

“So then, when I found someone else in that... position,” he continued, his emotions plummeting, “I felt like I’d lost the one place where I belonged... where I could be myself... be happy... safe... content.”

“Yes.” Spock could understand perfectly now; he could feel it in his own bones. “She broke your heart.”

McCoy did not answer but he did not need to. Spock simply caressed him with as much tenderness as he could express through his hands and kissed his cheek and neck, hoping to infuse him with affection.

“I’m damaged goods, Spock,” he finally whispered. “Are you sure you still want me? With all my baggage?”

“Yes.” Spock looked him in the eyes. “Yes.” He kissed him on the mouth. “Yes.” He reached up to untie the blanket where it covered his shoulders, letting it slide down to the floor. “Let me be your new home, Leonard. Let me be the one place where you feel safe and happy. I will never let you go.” Spock weighed his words before adding, “I may not always understand how best to respond to your needs, but I will never intentionally hurt you or abandon you. And I will always welcome you, Leonard — into my heart, into my body, and into my life. You are my Ashayam... my beloved.”

McCoy’s face crumpled as he began to cry silently. To Spock, even that was beautiful. 


	25. Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! At least I now give you SMUT! XD

When the tumult of McCoy’s emotions had settled down, there was a new kind of quietness between them. Words were no longer necessary; it was far easier for McCoy to communicate to Spock the awe, amazement, and gratitude he felt over Spock’s acceptance of him by pressing his lips to his skin. He knew Spock could read him loud and clear because Spock was sending back his own feelings — tentatively at first, so as to not overwhelm him with the intensity of raw Vulcan passion — through the contact with his psi points. Spock deflected McCoy’s gratitude with his own, insisting on the Human’s intrinsic worth, and revealed the all-pervading attraction/obsession that had drawn him inexorably to him. Spock felt McCoy’s breath hitch as though it were his own body’s reaction.

 _“Ashayam,”_ Spock confided in his mind, _“I have never yearned for anyone else as I yearn for you.”_

McCoy was staggered by the sentiment but replied in like kind, layering it with remembered moments from the past five years in which he had longed to be the one closest to Spock: little moments, such as when he had noticed a twitch in Spock’s forehead and knew the Vulcan was stressed, which made him want to massage his temples to relieve at least its physical effects; the occasions when he’d sensed the tension between Spock and Uhura as they worked side-by-side at their stations on the bridge, wondering if they’d had a lovers’ spat or had broken up for good, only to scold himself for wishing the latter, telling himself that there was no hope for him to take Uhura’s place anyway; the many times he had listened in on Spock and Jim’s conversations, feeling like an outsider and ashamed of his jealousy though unable to control it. All of this he could tell Spock in the blink of an eye without the cumbersome medium of speech — and Spock could understand it all far better since he experienced it through McCoy’s eyes and heart.

When McCoy’s lips reached Spock’s, the affection they each felt for the other became mingled, intertwining like their tongues, until it pulsed back and forth as one emotion between them with increasing resonance like an endless feedback loop, growing more powerful with each pass. It was underscored by the beat of McCoy’s heart, which seemed to throb _MINE-MINE-MINE_ but to Spock’s newly attuned ears also declared _HOME-HOME-HOME_. It was not so much about possession as it was about belonging, equal parts desire and the craving to be desired, to be nourished as well as to nurture. It traveled through Spock like lightning, setting his nerves on fire with warmth and excitement. It was all that McCoy had ever wanted; it was what Spock wanted too. He welcomed it and reciprocated, spreading the light to infuse McCoy as well.

After an eternity or a moment, something new crept into their shared consciousness: embarrassment. Surprised, Spock untangled his thoughts from McCoy’s to decipher that his lover was embarrassed about his physical response — he was aroused again and worried that Spock would despise him for being so horny. Spock laughed into his mind, allowing McCoy to feel his humor, and pressed their bodies even closer together.

 _“I will never_ not _be pleased to be desired, Ashayam,”_ he assured him with a smile. The brilliance of it blinded McCoy for a second, but he quickly recovered and moved to action.

As McCoy slid his hands up and down Spock’s back in a decidedly more seductive manner, Spock felt the familiar tingling of energy focus on the areas where the doctor was touching him. When McCoy kissed down his throat and chest, tasting his skin as though it were an aphrodisiac, Spock could sense how his own body felt and tasted to his lover. However, for now he tried to block it — drawing on all of his mental discipline — in order to fully appreciate the sensations of his own body: how the heat of McCoy’s broad chest warmed him; how the glide of his deft fingers seemed to make something deep in Spock’s gut melt and churn; how the powerful thighs he was straddling lifted him when they moved; and how the growing hardness pressing against his belly made his empty passage ache to be filled again.

“Spock...” McCoy whispered into his ear, his warm breath tickling the sensitive organ.

Spock saw an impression of what his lover wanted and, although it was torture to pull himself away, he shifted over on the couch so that his elbows were resting on the back, spreading his knees wide in invitation. McCoy groaned before coming up behind him to plant kisses on his shoulders, then dashed away to retrieve the lubricant from the table. In that brief time, Spock realized he could still feel the thrumming of McCoy’s lust and his single-minded determination to not only avoid hurting Spock but also ensure that Spock enjoyed their next joining. Although they were not in physical contact, he could sense his lover’s feelings and intentions as though they were — something unprecedented, to his knowledge, between even touch empaths, therefore inconceivable in a case where one of them did not possess any empathic or telepathic abilities.

 _“Unless Leonard has some latent ability that he has never realized or developed,”_ Spock thought. He filed it away in his mind to pursue later since right now he wanted to concentrate on McCoy’s fingers entering him and slicking him in preparation for intercourse. They rubbed his prostate and testes a few times, causing him to whine out loud and arch his back, eager to be penetrated by McCoy’s penis. His own penis grew erect as it was pressed against the fabric of the couch, which was slightly scratchy but, to his surprise, provided satisfying friction for his male organ. He began to back away from it, not wanting to soil it with his semen when he would eventually ejaculate, but McCoy would not let him move.

“No, it’s all right,” he murmured into Spock’s ear. “I want you to christen the couch too.”

“Oh!” Spock gasped in understanding. McCoy liked to see the physical evidence of their act — later, when the heat of the moment had passed — so despite his own aversion to uncleanliness, Spock acquiesced and leaned forward against the couch again. McCoy chuckled his approval as he reached down to fondle Spock’s penis with one hand. A moment later he positioned his own with the other.

“Ready?”

“Of course,” Spock answered, his voice husky with desire.

The thickness and length of McCoy’s shaft entered easily in one smooth stroke, filling Spock with brilliant flames of white-hot passion. McCoy held it there, balls-deep, for several minutes while he kissed Spock’s ears, neck, and cheeks. Spock rested his head against his lover’s shoulder, trying to kiss him back, but for some reason McCoy would not engage with his mouth.

 _“Why?”_ Spock queried, reaching over to touch McCoy’s face and reestablish their mind-link.

 _“I wanna hear you whimper,”_ came the reply. Even before Spock opened his eyes, he could see the wicked smirk on McCoy’s face.

“Uhhnnnggghhh,” Spock moaned deliberately, a half-smile forming as he watched McCoy’s eyes widen in response.

 _“God, Spock, what you do to me!”_ McCoy thought at him since his lips were occupied with nibbling the shell of Spock’s ear. When Spock began making mewling sounds, McCoy sucked on his earlobe so hard that it was painful. _“Dammit, Spock! Why’d’you have to be so fucking_ perfect _?”_

 _“Perfection is... a subjective thing,”_ Spock objected, retreating a little into his rational mind. _“I am pleased to know you find me attractive, but I highly doubt that I fulfill any quantifiable standard of beauty.”_

“Oh, yeah?” McCoy verbally retorted. “I’ll bet you dimes to doughnuts there’s a mathematical algorithm that _proves_ your ass is a thing of beauty!”

Spock laughed aloud. “Perhaps,” he conceded. He turned McCoy’s face and asked, _“If I promise to vocalize my pleasure later, will you kiss me now?”_

“Well... since you asked so nicely,” McCoy mumbled before granting his request.

Spock could sense how much his lover wanted to cut loose and rut into his body — a need that only increased as they slid their tongues together and tasted each other’s mouths — but still McCoy did not move.

_“What is it, Ashayam? Why are you holding back?”_

_“I... don’t want this moment to end....”_

The shadow of _WORRY-WORRY-FEAR_ was hiding in the depths of his consciousness yet, Spock realized; it had not been banished or destroyed, merely subdued.

 _“There will be other moments like this. There will_ always _be more moments like this,”_ he assured him.

_“I know.... I just...”_

_“Let go, my Beloved. I will always be yours.”_

Slowly, McCoy withdrew enough to thrust back up into him again. Spock let out a guttural sound as he felt the heft of McCoy’s penis dominate his body in that powerful stroke.

“You... like that?”

“Yesss,” Spock hissed, then moaned, “More!”

McCoy planted his lips on Spock’s shoulder, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise, and pulled his penis all the way out. The following thrust made Spock’s feet curl while he cried out in ecstasy. McCoy kept repeating the movement, pulling out all the way before shoving hard, holding Spock’s torso so that every thrust rubbed against his prostate and became seated as deeply as possible. It was a long, slow process, as though he were trying to drag out the act of sex — to extract as much pleasure from it as possible. But regardless of how much Spock wanted to accommodate his lover, it was excruciatingly frustrating. The next time McCoy began to withdraw, Spock clenched his muscles around him, not wanting to let him go. McCoy shuddered and gasped.

“God! Spock, what the hell...?”

 _“Please don’t disconnect our bodies,”_ Spock requested.

 _“All right, all right,”_ McCoy agreed. _“So tight!_ Oh, God!” he swore out loud again when Spock pressed down against him.

_“Please... more!”_

“ _You want more?”_ McCoy asked before shoving up suddenly, almost lifting Spock off his knees. _“Like this?”_

 _“Yes! Please, Ashayam, faster... harder...!”_ Spock begged.

McCoy complied, withdrawing only far enough that the return stroke would hit Spock’s prostate; since the Vulcan organ was higher up than its Human counterpart, he remained seated deep inside Spock’s body while he rolled his hips in a circular pattern, stimulating Spock over and over until he was whining helplessly.

“Ah! Ahh! Ahhhnnn... anngghhh... ngaaahhh!”

As Spock’s voice rose in pitch, McCoy’s arousal built up in the pit of his belly, driving him to plunge into Spock with abandon. The slapping noises of his hips hitting Spock’s soft buttocks were accentuated by the lube that had spread across their skin over the course of the day, echoing obscenely off the walls, windows, and kitchen cupboards. McCoy clamped his hand tighter around Spock’s penis, unable to stroke it because he was too intently focused on pounding into Spock’s ass, but he did manage to rub his thumb over its sensitive head a few more times. Spock could no longer assist by pressing down, either, since McCoy’s movements were too fast, but he braced himself with both hands to keep his body steady against the onslaught of the Human’s lust. He also tried to clench at the right moments, in which he seemed to succeed.

“God! Oh, God... _Spooock!_ ” McCoy yelled when he started to come. His frenetic movements stuttered but continued until he had completely emptied his reserves of semen deep inside his lover. When his body stilled at last, he noticed that his hand was covered in warm greenish slime — as well as the back of the couch.

 _“Have I adequately christened your furniture?”_ Spock asked through the mind-link, touching McCoy’s psi points again since he was panting too hard to speak.

 _“Works for me,”_ McCoy answered with a grin before kissing him.

Spock rested limply against McCoy, happy and content to be held by him with his penis still lodged within. The tidal wave of McCoy’s climax had carried him along again — Spock had never experienced so many orgasms in so short a time before, and he had to admit that it was more fulfilling than anything else he had ever experienced.

 _“This could become habit-forming,”_ he quipped at his lover.

 _“Damn! It better be,”_ McCoy shot back.

When Spock laughed at that, there was a brief moment of worry in the doctor; however, reassured by the surge of pleasure Spock was telegraphing to him, McCoy smiled in wonder and rocked him gently in his arms.

_“You’re mine now, huh? All mine?”_

_“All yours, Ashayam... forever.”_

McCoy tried to hide his goofy grin by burying his face in Spock’s hair, even though his feelings of _HAPPY-HAPPY-UNBELIEVABLE_ were pounding like waves against Spock’s consciousness. Spock turned around to kiss him and lowered his hands to McCoy’s chest, idly playing with his pendant.

 _“Hey, you chilly?”_ McCoy asked, startling Spock with the clarity of his projection.

 _“No... I hadn’t noticed,”_ he replied, stunned.

 _“Well, your skin is beginning to feel clammy,”_ McCoy continued while running his hands up and down Spock’s back. _“What say we take a hot shower, then go out for dinner?”_

Spock agreed, so McCoy stood up and led him to the bathroom, one arm wrapped affectionately across his shoulders. But Spock was somewhat distracted by the fact that they were now able to communicate — with specific, identifiable words — even without any contact of their psi points.


	26. Scuttlebutt

Once in the shower, McCoy insisted on washing Spock — doing as much as possible while kissing him. He did have to pull back to shampoo Spock’s hair, but the skillful way his fingers massaged Spock’s scalp more than made up for the loss of his mouth. Then he made Spock face the wall so he could run the washcloth down his backside. Spock could feel his lover’s interest lingering over his buttocks, almost like the heat of the sun beating on his bare skin, then McCoy’s hands were grabbing the lobes and spreading them apart.

 _“You’ve still got my come inside, don’t you?”_ McCoy thought at him, startling Spock again with how articulately he was able to communicate without an actual mind-link.

 _“Y—Yes,”_ Spock answered, aware of the fluid swirling inside.

 _“Well... you should let it out,”_ McCoy told him, his tone teasing.

_“Now? Here?”_

_“Why not? I’ll wash you when you’re done.”_ McCoy leaned in to lick the edge of Spock’s ear. _“I wanna see it dripping out of you,”_ he added, managing to make his mental words sound downright lecherous.

Spock flushed in embarrassment and what might have been arousal if he had not already been drained dry. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on expelling the secretion from his body. He was shocked when he saw an image of his own buttocks with the viscous white semen dripping out — he was somehow seeing through McCoy’s eyes, even feeling the satisfaction McCoy was experiencing at the sight.

 _“Niiice,”_ McCoy drawled as Spock squeezed out more. _“That’s a really pretty picture.... If I were ten years younger, I might be getting hard again.”_

 _“In that case, I am rather relieved that you are older than I,”_ Spock confessed. _“Although I would never refuse you, I am... quite exhausted.”_

 _“Aww, Spock! I’m sorry, I’ve been wearin’ you out, haven’t I?”_ McCoy hugged him from behind and placed gentle kisses on his shoulder. _“Even bruised you in a few places.... I’ll use the dermal regenerator on those. Is your ass sore at all? I’ll make sure you aren’t bruised inside. God! I’m supposed to be taking care of you, not running you ragged....”_

 _“Oh, but I have enjoyed it!”_ Spock put in before McCoy could blame himself too severely. _“It is very..._ satisfying _... to have you inside. And I have not experienced any pain at all.”_

 _“Well, good. I’d hate to turn you off to this, ’cuz, damn! I’m hoping to do this... a_ lot _more... in the future.”_ A soupçon of anxiety tinged McCoy’s otherwise happy mood. _“That is... if you want to, of course....”_

“Leonard,” Spock said aloud, turning around to look him in the eye so that there would be no doubt about his words, “I will _always_ be ready to accommodate you in this manner. In fact I will _demand_ it of you if you ever deprive me for too long.”

“Yeah?” McCoy asked, a shy grin forming on his face. “I guess you could pull rank on me, too, if you ever needed to... you could actually _order_ me to salute you.”

“That would be unethical,” Spock said, balking at the thought. “A serious breach of protocol.”

“I’m kidding, Spock,” McCoy explained with a chuckle. “I’m just saying we could _pretend_... you know, role-play: you would be my commanding officer, demanding that I ‘perform’ for you, and I would be your loyal underling, jumping to attention and happily doing whatever you told me to.”

Spock stared at him, uncomprehending. “I fail to see the purpose of such pretense. I am _not_ your commanding officer, and if I were, it would be highly inappropriate for me to ask you to perform _any_ personal favors, sexual or otherwise.”

McCoy took a deep, slow breath and nodded. “Okay... so I’m guessing you never did any role-playing with Uhura.... I mean, I can see why you would consider that particular scenario ‘inappropriate,’ but what I’m talking about is strictly relegated to the bedroom. In fact people who aren’t even Starfleet officers will sometimes pretend to be, to... spice up their love life.” He studied Spock’s reaction, which was vague bewilderment. “This isn’t computing for you, is it?”

“I do not understand,” Spock readily admitted. “What is the purpose for such... dissimulation?”

“The purpose is... it lets us be whoever we want to be... gets us out of our own skin for a bit. We can do different things, make up our own rules....” McCoy remembered why they were in the shower and used the washcloth on Spock’s chest. “For example, I could pretend to be an alien doctor whose primary sense is touch — or no, _taste_ , for the sake of argument. You would be the first Vulcan-Human hybrid I’ve ever seen as a patient, so I’d have to lick every square inch of your body to figure out what’s wrong with you.”

Spock’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But any species capable of warp drive would have the technology—”

“That’s not the point,” McCoy interrupted. “It’s a _fantasy_ , Spock; it doesn’t have to make sense. It just serves to give me an excuse to lick you all over.”

“You do not need an excuse to do so, Leonard, if you wish to.”

“Yeah?” McCoy looked at him with sudden interest. “You’d let me do that?”

“Of course, Ashayam. Why would I not?”

McCoy pulled him in for a deep kiss that set Spock’s nerves to tingling, the white lightning crackling through his body.

“Damn, Spock,” McCoy whispered when he finally withdrew his lips and tongue, “who needs to role-play when you’re so willing to experiment?”

“That is precisely my question. I do not comprehend the need for acting as though we were different entities if we are satisfied with our own situations.”

“Well, maybe I’ll be able to explain it better some other time... when I’m not so tired or hungry,” McCoy said with chagrin. “But for now I’m just sorry I can’t take you up on your offer.”

Spock caught an image in his mind’s eye of his lover licking his toes lasciviously and eyeing the path he would take up Spock’s long leg. It sent a shiver through his spine.

“I would be... delighted to participate in such an activity... when you have the requisite time available,” he managed to say as he blushed.

“Yeah?” McCoy looked pleased while his emotions conveyed happy incredulity at his good fortune. “Sometime soon, I promise. But right now I think we both need to refuel.”

***

Spock took charge of washing McCoy, which was a much more efficient process, interrupted only by loud growls from the Human’s stomach. McCoy used the dermal regenerator as promised on Spock’s bruises — although Spock protested that they were so minor as to not require treatment — and the tightening ointment on his anal muscles, then they dressed and left the apartment. They were discussing the various nearby restaurants as they entered the turbolift.

“Hi! Hold the lift,” a familiar voice called. Scotty came jogging up from the other corridor while McCoy re-opened the doors. “Thanks, Doc,” he huffed when he got in. “And hello, Mr. Spock! How’re you doing? I heard you fainted dead away in the office yesterday.”

“I am... doing fine. Thank you for your concern,” Spock returned with as much grace as he could muster.

“Scuttlebutt travels fast,” McCoy said with a chuckle.

“Aye, especially when there are so few of us left,” Scotty agreed. “But it’s good to see you out and about.”

“You going for supper with Keenser?” McCoy asked before they stepped off the turbolift and strolled onto the walkway.

“I would be, but the wee man is off visiting his mum. It’s some sort of holiday for his people and all fifteen of his siblings are gettin’ together. I’m glad we could spare him so he could go this time. He took Kevin with ’im, too, so it’s been downright peaceful around ’ere. Almost unnerving, if you know what I mean.”

While Scotty chatted, McCoy caught Spock’s eye with a meaningful look, so Spock focused on McCoy’s thoughts. The words “Scotty,” “lonely,” and “dinner” jumped out at him. He deduced what McCoy meant and was ready with a nod the next time McCoy glanced at him.

“Hey, Scotty, we were just going to grab a bite ourselves,” McCoy began anew. “Care to join us?”

“Well, now... that’s mighty sportin’ of you, but... you sure I wouldn’t be intrudin’?”

“What? Of course not,” McCoy answered, somewhat confused and embarrassed. “I’m just keeping an eye on Spock to make sure he doesn’t have any more fainting spells.”

“Oh! So you’re not... going to be joinin’ your lady friends?”

Finally understanding the source of Scotty’s concern, McCoy let out an easy laugh. “No, no — not tonight. And you must be mistaking me with Jim ‘The Lady-Killer’ Kirk. He’s the one with the _blue_ eyes,” he joked.

“Aye, but you’ve been makin’ yourself so scarce these days, I’d assumed you’d found a lady friend like the Captain has done.”

“You _do_ know all the gossip around here, don’t you? What’d you do, reroute the grapevine to your comm?” McCoy accused with mock horror. “But no, I’ve just been busy at the hospital. They’ve had me doing surgeries and research projects like you wouldn’t believe. I’m enjoying it, of course — not often that I have the opportunity to work with the finest medical minds in the galaxy — but it’s keeping me out of trouble, dammit.”

“I’m sure we can find a spot of it tonight if you’re game,” Scotty replied with enthusiasm.

They went to a restaurant that Scotty highly recommended which neither Spock nor McCoy had visited before. The vegetarian menu was extensive enough to satisfy Spock and McCoy was impressed with their wide selection of Terran alcoholic drinks.

“Only a few beers tonight, though,” he said wistfully. “I have surgery scheduled tomorrow morning.”

“You sure you won’t try the haggis? It’s almost as good as my granny used to make — God rest ’er soul.”

“No, thanks,” McCoy said with a laugh. “I’d need a dram to enjoy it properly.”

While they waited for their meals to come out, Scotty entertained them with several humorous anecdotes from when the remaining engineering crew inspected the new ship being built and butted heads with the design team. Then as they started in on their food, he turned a shrewd eye on Spock.

“So, now... what’s going on with you and Lieutenant Uhura? She’s not with you tonight — and the day after you took a rather nasty tumble, too! Trouble in paradise?”

Spock, caught with his mouth full of lentil soup, could not answer right away, so McCoy spoke for him.

“They’re taking a break, Scotty. You know how it goes.... Plus Uhura’s got a lot on her mind right now.”

“Aye, I suppose... no-one can blame her after what that bastard put her through. But it seems to me like _right now_ would be the time she needs her man the most.” His pointed expression was not lost on either of them.

“You are correct in your assessment, Mr. Scott,” Spock agreed. “Unfortunately, I have often disappointed her in my sensitivity to her needs... a fact that I most sincerely regret. This time she has decided that she would rather pursue her recovery alone, if for no other reason than to strengthen her own resolve. I am, of course, respecting her wishes.”

“Eh... sounds serious. D’you think it might be permanent?”

Spock paused for a split second, weighing his response. “I believe so, yes.”

“Well, now... I’m right sorry to hear that. It can’t be easy after all these years.... Although I hope you don’t mind my sayin’, there’ll be quite a few interested parties when the word gets out.”

“I would not be surprised,” Spock replied, his tone mild. “She is an intelligent and attractive individual. No doubt there will be many ‘interested parties.’ I hope at least one of them will be a suitable companion for her.”

“That’s very big of you, Mr. Spock,” Scotty said in awe. “I’m not sure there’s many as would be so magnanimous right after their breakup.”

“Considering how I have contributed to the breakup and caused much distress for her — however unintentionally — it is the least I can do to wish her a more successful relationship in the future. And since I am pursuing a more compatible relationship myself, I sincerely hope she will be able to find one as well.”

McCoy sputtered, choked, and coughed on his beer, prompting Scotty to thump his back until his throat had cleared.

“Must you always be so blasted honest?” McCoy demanded, though wearily.

Spock raised both eyebrows at him. “I fail to understand why it would be preferable to prevaricate.”

“Wait! Hold on a minute,” Scotty put in. “Did you just say you were pursuin’ _another_ relationship?”

“Indeed I did,” Spock answered. McCoy let his head droop into his hands.

“You don’t mean... You can’t _possibly_ mean...” Scotty hedged, looking at them both askance.

“With Leonard, yes,” Spock told him with aplomb. McCoy groaned.

“No!” Scotty gasped. “You don’t say!”

“Scotty, this is to be kept in the _strictest confidence_ ,” McCoy stated, lifting his head to fix the engineer with a baleful glare. “If you so much as breathe a word about it... and it gets back to Uhura....”

“Aye! Of course, Doctor — mum’s the word!” Scotty held up his right hand as though swearing an oath, his left laid over his glass.

“Leonard, there is no need for secrecy,” Spock protested. “Nyota is well aware of my attraction to you and no doubt suspects that I am acting upon it already.”

“ _Suspecting_ and _knowing for sure_ are two different things,” McCoy explained. “I know she must _suspect_ , too, after the way she dumped your dad’s call on us today, but to have confirmation... to have it become public knowledge? That’s tantamount to suicide. And I, for one, do not have a death wish.”

Spock’s brows furrowed. “It is highly improbable that she would turn violent over these circumstances, much less homicidal—”

“Spock.” McCoy stared him dead in the eye. “I’m not saying she’s going to _physically_ kill us. A woman doesn’t _have_ to. And a woman of _Uhura’s_ abilities can make life a living _hell_ for us if she wanted to.”

“Aye, that’s the truth,” Scotty muttered, quaffing the rest of his drink.

“Plus it would humiliate her,” McCoy continued, lowering his voice, “to have it get out that you started seeing someone else so soon after you’d broken up. It’s only polite, Spock, to have a cooling-off period.”

“I see...” Spock replied, realizing the intricacies of the situation.

“Not to mention, it’s inadvisable to hook up with someone on the rebound,” Scotty added.

“Gee, thanks,” McCoy said blandly.

“Rebound?” Spock asked.

“Aye. When you’re still feelin’ vulnerable after a breakup, you tend to latch on to the first likely candidate that comes by — which scarcely ever works out.”

Spock sensed McCoy’s emotions plunging into despair and firmly put a stop to it.

“That is not the case for us, Mr. Scott. Far from ‘latching on’ to Leonard on the ‘rebound,’ I fell in love with him _first_... which is what _caused_ the breakup.”

McCoy groaned again. “Scotty, if I get you a bottle of prime bourbon....”

“No worries, Doctor. My lips are sealed,” Scotty promised. “But I _would_ like to know how you managed to steal Mr. Spock away from a fine woman like _Uhura_.”

“That... was _not_ my intention,” McCoy dryly retorted. Spock nodded in support.

“He did not attempt to influence my opinion, Mr. Scott. I simply had a greater opportunity, while on Altamid, to observe and appreciate his finer qualities.”

“Well, if that doesn’t sound like true love!” Scotty grinned and raised his glass. “Here’s to the two of you!”

“I’m gonna need something stronger,” McCoy mumbled as Spock sipped his tea.


	27. Illogical

Spock could sense the temptation in McCoy’s mind to order a whiskey or join Scotty with a scotch, but the doctor stuck to his beer while Scotty plied Spock as to what some of McCoy’s “finer qualities” might be.

“His unwavering dedication to his profession, for one,” Spock said, allowing a small smile to form on his lips. “Being the recipient of his medical care, I can attest to it with greater surety now. In fact he refuses to even entertain the _possibility_ of becoming intoxicated the night before he must perform surgery.”

“That’s just self-defense, you know,” McCoy protested. “I can’t afford to lose my license.”

“That may be, but I also know how deeply you care for your patients — even the ones you have never met before. Your compassion and desire to heal lie at the core of your personality.”

McCoy blushed under Spock’s frank gaze. “I wouldn’t have put myself through all those years of med school if I didn’t think it was the right career choice.”

“Of course. And then you subjected yourself to the rigors of Starfleet Academy as well,” Spock noted. “It was no mean feat to complete your courses in only three years.”

“I already had my practicum finished,” McCoy pointed out. “Plus I had to make sure I got out at the same time as Jim — I couldn’t let him run loose without supervision.”

Scotty laughed at that and raised his glass. “You’re a true friend, Dr. McCoy!”

“Yeah, well, a shitload of good _that_ did.” He took a pull of his beer before expanding, “He managed to get himself kicked off the ship almost as soon as I got him on.”

“ _You?_ ” Spock said, startled. “ _You_ smuggled him on board the Enterprise?”

“Um... yeah,” McCoy admitted, sheepishly playing with his glass. “I couldn’t just _leave_ him there in the hangar, looking like a sad-eyed, abandoned puppy....”

“I had always assumed that he had smuggled _himself_ aboard,” Spock reflected. “I should have suspected he’d had some assistance.”

“Well... just a little.” The emotions emanating from McCoy grew agitated, conflicted. Spock focused on them, without meaning to pry, and felt them fluctuate between _CONFESS-WORRY-FEAR-HIDE-WORRY-ADMIT_.

“Leonard,” Spock began, hoping he was not being intrusive, “how _did_ you manage to get Jim on board?”

“I... might have told the guy loading the shuttle that he was... suffering from a viral infection... and needed to be with his primary physician.”

“A viral infection?” Spock raised one eyebrow. “Did he, in fact, have a viral infection?”

“Well, yeah!” McCoy retorted. “I gave it to him.”

It was Scotty’s turn to choke on his drink. “You _what_ , now?”

“Only a mild case! At least it was supposed to be. How was I to know he’d have a bad allergic reaction to the vaccine?” McCoy grumbled. Conversely, his feelings were more settled now that he had come clean.

“So you gave him a vaccine which would cause the symptoms of an infection... just to get him aboard the Enterprise?” Spock asked for clarification. He was not sure whether he was more impressed at McCoy’s ingenuity or exasperated by the lengths he had gone to circumvent the rules.

“Yeah.” McCoy glanced up at Spock as though expecting his censure. Finding Spock’s expression blank and unreadable, he grew defensive. “Look, Jim didn’t _ask_ me to get him on the ship — he was going to stay back as ordered, where he would’ve been of no use to anybody, and God only knows what would’ve happened to the Enterprise if we’d gone up against the Narada unsuspecting with our shields down!”

“ _I_ know,” Scotty put in darkly. “She would’ve been so much space debris, along with the rest of the armada, and I might still be stranded on Delta Vega with no hope of gettin’ a decent meal.” At the recollection, he picked up the menu and ordered another sandwich.

“Exactly — a lot of things would’ve gone worse without him, as it turned out,” McCoy said with relief.

“We have the benefit of hindsight now,” Spock conceded, “but if things had not played out as they did, you would have jeopardized your standing with Starfleet... solely for your friendship with Jim.” His intonation betrayed both vexation at and fondness for his lover.

“Have you ever seen Jim when he’s disappointed and trying to keep a stiff upper lip?” Bones asked, shaking his head. “It’s the worst! Because he really _is_ trying not to let on that he’s upset — he’s doing his damnedest to make you believe he’s okay — but you just _know_ he’s not okay, and the fact that he’s trying _so hard_ to keep his shit together only makes it that much _worse_....”

“Aye. I’ve seen that look.” Scotty heaved a sigh. “You’d have to have a heart o’ stone to ignore him when he’s like that.”

“I suspect your own amity causes such strong feelings of commiseration,” Spock stated. “It is curious that in this one area the Captain fails to achieve his goals — and yet, fortuitously, it causes his friends to take actions which benefit him in the end.”

“And it works better than when he’s actually _trying_ to persuade you,” McCoy added. “Then he’s just annoying.”

“Now, now, gentlemen!” Scotty protested. “We must’nae speak ill of a man who isn’t here to defend himself — even if he _is_ with his bonnie lassie.” He was distracted for a moment when his sandwich was delivered by an attractive Denobulan female, but he picked right back up with, “Besides, I believe there must be some _other_ fine qualities of Dr. McCoy that Mr. Spock can extol?”

“Indeed there are,” Spock agreed while McCoy blushed again. “His ingenuity, which as we have just heard knows no bounds. I had started to mention his intelligence. Although his judgment may not always be logical or sound, in the field of medicine he has certainly displayed a brilliance that borders on genius.”

McCoy stared into his beer, desperately wishing he could have something stronger. “That’s just... ninety-nine percent perspiration.”

“Which you do not spare if there is any hope of saving your patients.” Spock placed a hand on McCoy’s arm where it rested on the table. “You possess many admirable traits, Leonard. I wish you would not deemphasize them as you do.”

“Right,” Scotty said, eyeing the two of them with some perplexity. “But Mr. Spock, so far all you’ve given me is a list of reasons why anyone should hire him as a _doctor_. What I was hopin’ for is... well, you know... something a wee bit more personal?” Ignoring McCoy’s groan, Scotty persisted, “After all, Lieutenant Uhura is just as good at _her_ job as the doctor is at his!”

Spock tilted his head to consider this. “You are correct in that assessment. As far as their skillsets are concerned, they are both proficient in their tasks. If you wish to know the reason why I decided to pursue Leonard instead of Nyo—Lieutenant Uhura,” he corrected himself, “it is simply... because I could not stop thinking about him.”

“No kiddin’!” Scotty exclaimed, surprised. “So you just... _fell_ for him?”

“I believe that is the most accurate way to describe the phenomenon.” Spock smiled at his lover, catching his gaze. “It is not logical in the least, but I could not deny the powerful attraction I felt for him.”

“All right, if you don’t stop that right now, I really _will_ have to order another drink,” McCoy declared, beet-red to the tips of his ears.

“I will cease if you insist,” Spock said, then continued with a twinkle in his eye, “but I have not even begun to describe how calming and comfortable it is to be in your presence.”

“‘Calming’?” Scotty echoed in disbelief.

“Yes; even soothing,” Spock replied. “But perhaps that is because I can sense his emotions — which, contrary to what he may be _saying_ , are more often than not overflowing with concern for others.” Spock’s smile was genuine as he slipped his hand under McCoy’s. “When I am the focus of your attention, regardless of the circumstances, I find I feel _safe_. Possibly because I know that you would do anything in your power to protect the ones you love.”

McCoy could not have been more embarrassed if he had tried to be, but he did not break their eye contact as he affirmed, “You’re damn right I will.”

“Now _that’s_ what I’m talkin’ about!” Scotty said, grinning. “That’s some _real_ sweet talk, Mr. Spock, and if I had’nae heard it with my own ears, I would’nae believed you capable of it.”

“Ordinarily I find it difficult to be effusive in my praise,” Spock confessed. “However, with Leonard I find there is no lack of admirable qualities on which to expound.”

“But now, what about, y’know... _physically?_ ” Scotty probed, his curiosity palpable. “You said you could’nae stop thinking about him — were you attracted to his physical _assets_ at all?”

“Scotty!” McCoy protested, but Spock was already nodding.

“Yes, of course. Although for a Vulcan, physical attractiveness is a minor concern compared to others, it is quite gratifying to be with an individual who is aesthetically pleasing. And Leonard is well-built and beautiful in every inch of his anatomy.” Spock had a knowing smile on his lips as he said this, causing all of the blood in McCoy’s face to rush south.

“Whew! Well, now...” Scotty hemmed and hawed, toying with his half-eaten sandwich. “Ah... I guess there’s no doubt about that point, now, is there? And, being a doctor, I would assume his technique is, uh... a good deal better than average?”

“S—Scotty!” McCoy interjected, spluttering.

“I have very few points of reference for comparison, but yes,” Spock coolly answered, “I believe so.”

“Well, then....” Scotty waved the air in front of his face. “Is it just me or has it gotten hotter in this joint?”

“You _did_ ask, Scotty,” McCoy pointed out. “But don’t let us chase you out of here; we’ll go get a room.” When he stood up, Spock followed suit almost simultaneously. “I’ll have that bourbon for you as soon as I can lay my hands on it.”

“No worries! I’m just glad to hear all this from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, otherwise I would’nae believed it,” Scotty said. “Bloody ’ell... even if you had’nae sworn me to secrecy, nobody else would believe it!”

“Goodnight, Scotty,” McCoy said with a lopsided grin. Spock inclined his head to echo his parting.

“Aye, goodnight indeed!” Scotty raised his sandwich to toast the couple. “Don’t let the bed-bugs bite!”

***

Their walk home was unusually quiet since McCoy was still steeped in his feelings of _EMBARRASSED-SHY-UNBELIEVABLE_. Spock broke the silence first.

“Leonard... would you prefer if I returned to my own quarters tonight?”

“Huh? Why?”

“You have surgery tomorrow, so I do not want to interfere with your rest in any way.”

“Spock... hell, no! You wouldn’t ‘interfere’ with my rest, to start with, and... God, you can’t be serious, can you? After leading me on like that?”

“I beg your pardon?” Spock asked, honestly puzzled.

“Well, I mean... the way you looked at me while ago...” McCoy explained with a frustrated wave of his hand. “As if you wanted to eat me whole! You can’t just _do_ that to a guy and leave him hanging... unless you’re too tired? Oh, God! I’ve done nothing but wear your ass out since last night, haven’t I? I’m sorry, Spock — if you need to rest, of course, you do whatever you have to. I understand.”

Spock felt a dizzying flurry of emotions from his lover, happiness turning to worry and then devolving into self-recrimination, while the louder words in McCoy’s mind transmitted themselves clearly into his consciousness.

“No, Leonard! That is not my motive for asking at all,” Spock protested when McCoy paused for a breath. “I am not tired, you have not been making ‘excessive’ demands of me, and I am not ‘bored’ with our relationship in the slightest.” He stepped in front of McCoy to face him, forcing him into an abrupt halt. “You must not jump to such negative conclusions without first ascertaining whether there is any truth to them! My only concern in this instance is your readiness to perform at the peak of your abilities tomorrow. If you do not think my presence will hamper you from acquiring the rest you require, then of course I prefer to stay with you.”

“You... you do?” McCoy asked, still uncertain.

“I would not have said so if I did not mean it.” Spock frowned. “Vulcans do not lie — I had hoped you would have found me to be trustworthy by now.”

“I... I’m sorry.” McCoy sighed, reaching out as though to grab Spock’s hands, then withdrawing, having thought better of it since they were in public. “I just... keep expecting you to get tired... of _me_.”

“Leonard!” Spock felt pain — both McCoy’s and his own — at the implications of the admission. He did not know how to remedy the matter but wished with all his heart to try. “I am _not_. And the probability of my ever becoming uninterested is... 1.034 percent.”

McCoy eyed him suspiciously. “You just made that number up.”

“I have sufficient evidence that the likelihood is at least that low,” Spock insisted with a straight face. “And if you will allow me to accompany you back to your room, I will prove it to you.”

“Yeah?” A faint smile was finally growing on his face. “How?”

“You will have to invite me in if you wish to find out,” Spock retorted with an upraised brow.

“Deal,” McCoy agreed. The feelings he projected as they resumed walking were distinctly more positive.


	28. Taking Charge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry about the long hiatus!

By the time they entered the turbolift of their apartment building, McCoy’s thoughts had grown downright lascivious, and when he reached out to hold Spock’s hand, Spock was given an uncensored view of the images playing in McCoy’s mind. The doctor envisioned pinning Spock down on the bed and, crouching upside-down over his body, sucking the Vulcan penis into his mouth, tonguing the tip until he made Spock whimper with wanton need. Spock flushed involuntarily from the heat of the desire McCoy was conveying to him and felt his erection growing from the mere anticipation of what his lover was planning to do. However, Spock had already decided that his role in their relationship thus far had been too passive to convince McCoy of his deep attraction to him; aside from spoken affirmations, he realized that he needed to express his love by more actively engaging in their sexual encounters. After all, he had just tantalized McCoy with the promise to prove his interest in him — a promise he was determined to honor.

Once in the hallway approaching their quarters, McCoy released Spock’s hand and they both became the picture of decorum since there was always the possibility of their crewmates emerging from the other rooms, but once inside — and only barely after the doors had closed — they were on top of each other, trying to peel off clothes while making haphazard progress to the bedroom. Spock had the advantage of superior strength, which he suddenly exerted to hoist McCoy up by the waist and carry him, much to the doctor’s surprise.

“Hey! Whoa, what—” McCoy sputtered, wrapping his arms and legs around Spock to support himself.

“As I had informed you earlier,” Spock said as he set McCoy down on the bed and pushed him onto his back, “I intend to prove to you how _improbable_ the likelihood is—” he hitched up McCoy’s shirt before pulling it off completely “—of my _ever_ considering the time we spend together—” he slipped one hand into McCoy’s trousers to fondle him while unzipping them with the other “—to be _blasé_ in any way, shape, or form.”

McCoy gulped. “Okay. You’ve got my attention.”

“And I intend to keep it,” Spock declared with intense seriousness as he reached under McCoy’s ass to shove his trousers and underwear down, exposing his privates. The Human’s half-hard erection waved in the air for a moment before flopping onto his stomach, heavy with need and already oozing pre-come. Spock eyed it with scientific interest while he knelt on the floor next to the bed and pulled off McCoy’s trousers. When he glanced up at McCoy’s face, he was gratified to see it flushed with the excitement he could feel thrumming through him, and a surge of desire swept through them both like wildfire when Spock wrapped his fingers around McCoy’s penis. Spock allowed a salacious grin to form on his lips before he licked the glans with the tip of his tongue, causing McCoy to groan and grasp the sheets on either side of him, panting hard. The Human’s emotions were a tumult of desire and appreciation, sending crackling strands of lightning along both of their limbs.

Although Spock had never performed fellatio before, he was confident of his success for several reasons. First, despite the slight differences in Human and Vulcan anatomy, they were not so dissimilar as to respond differently to stimuli; therefore whatever had felt good to Spock previously should elicit the same pleasure in McCoy. Second, Spock was rather adept at cunnilingus, a skill he had acquired under Uhura’s demanding tutelage, and many of the techniques could be applied to the male organ as well. Third, Spock knew that McCoy was so enthralled by his attentions — indeed, had been deprived for such a long time — that almost any sexual stimulation was guaranteed a successful outcome. Lastly and perhaps most importantly, Spock had instantaneous feedback (even when verbal communication failed) of McCoy’s sensations, thanks to their newfound mental connection; in fact he could hear the doctor’s racing thoughts quite clearly through the contact he had with his skin, holding his shaft.

 _“Oh-God-oh-God-oh-God I can’t believe he’s actually doing this!_ God _that feels good... That perfect face down in my crotch and oh-my-God he’s stickin’ my cock in his mouth now between those pretty lips and I — gah! — I can’t believe it — this must be a dream — Ohhh! That... That... right there...! So good! God that’s so good it’s downright sinful —_ Ahhh! _”_

Discovering that running his tongue along the underside of McCoy’s penis from the base to the tip made the man incoherent even in his thoughts, and also feeling the waves of pleasure travel up his own penis as though he were licking both simultaneously, Spock continued his efforts with great zeal. When he waggled his tongue sideways across the sensitive underside of McCoy’s glans while stroking up on the shaft with his thumbs, McCoy was reduced to babbling whimpers and moans. Although verbal encouragement was a crucial means of communication for most couples, Spock was demonstrating to McCoy that in their case, it was not necessary.

McCoy was a quick learner. He sent a hesitant, almost shy request for Spock to move his fingers further down to his balls. A remembered impression of gentle rubbing was all Spock needed to understand what to do. McCoy gasped in ecstasy when Spock fondled his large sac and then stroked his fingertips through the neatly trimmed hair in circular motions, kneading the testicles. Spock was also proving how adept he was at multitasking by flicking his tongue against the slit of the meatus and alternated that with placing the head completely into his mouth, where he sucked on it to make loud, lewd noises. McCoy craned his neck to see Spock’s cheeks hollow as he suckled him, but he was forced to throw his head back again when the sensations overwhelmed him.

Spock could feel the pressure building inside his lover’s body: his throbbing pulse in the veins of his shaft, the growing brilliance of the electric sparks that hummed back and forth through their skin, the lust raging through McCoy like a caged animal trying to break out. Spock redoubled his efforts, sucking hard and rapidly on as much of McCoy’s penis as he could and stroking the testicles with more confidence, having discovered how good that felt on external Human ones. He sensed an urgent, instinctive warning from McCoy but hardly needed it; Spock was feeling the force of McCoy’s climax, too, and when he came it was inexorable, carrying both of them in its torrential current and leaving them beached, exhausted, on the shores of bliss.

Although Spock had anticipated taking McCoy’s come in his mouth, he struggled to swallow it since he was also trying to take in great draughts of air. Spock welcomed its familiar taste, though, and hazily attributed its more pungent flavor (than a Vulcan’s) to McCoy’s omnivorous diet.

 _“You okay?”_ McCoy thought at Spock, startling him again with the clarity of their connection. _“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”_

 _“I know.”_ Spock gazed up at him with a slight smile, his cheek pillowed where it had come to rest on McCoy’s thigh. The affection and fondness swelling in McCoy was just as tangible to Spock as his heated skin; even before McCoy reached down to ruffle his hair, Spock could sense his intentions and the emotions that prompted the act. He smiled fully and closed his eyes to better focus on the gentle caress of the doctor’s legendary hands. _“I hope my first attempt was... adequate.”_

 _“‘Adequate’!”_ McCoy snorted, even in his mind’s voice. _“You made me come undone in record time with just your mouth and hands, and the best description you can come up with is ‘adequate’?”_

 _“Then how would_ you _describe it?”_ Spock queried.

McCoy continued to run his fingers through Spock’s hair as he scowled and thought, _“Amazing. Mind-blowing. Unbelievable — for a first-timer! Fucking_ paradise _, that’s what_ that _was.”_

 _“I am pleased that you found it so... satisfactory,”_ Spock sent back, teasing.

 _“Oh, dammit, Spock!”_ McCoy roused himself to a complete sitting position and tried to haul Spock up off the floor. _“Get up here where I can kiss you!”_

Spock chuckled — giggled, really — before he climbed onto the bed and straddled McCoy.

 _“About damn time,”_ was McCoy’s gruff remark as he pulled Spock into his arms, but the kiss that followed was tender and sweet. Spock sensed the shimmering white light dancing through both of their bodies, filling them with an illumination that was warm and powerful and intoxicating. _“Mine... mine... my very own... Spock,”_ McCoy whispered reverently as he worshiped his alien lover with his lips. _“My own... my home... Spock.”_

 _“Leonard... Ashayam,”_ Spock sent back to him, infusing the words with all the fervor of his awakened Vulcan passion. _“You are mine, also... my own... my home... my_ k’hat’n’dlawa _.”_

 _“Gesundheit!”_ McCoy pulled back and raised both brows at him, making Spock laugh.

_“It means you are half of my heart and soul, just as I am yours; you are my beloved.”_

_“I don’t think I could ever pronounce that word.”_

_“That is all right,”_ Spock told him with an indulgent smile. _“You can use_ k’diwa _instead. It is a shortened form of_ k’hat’n’dlawa _.”_

_“Oh, so it’s hard even for Vulcans to say, huh?”_

_“It is unwieldy, yes.”_ Spock initiated another kiss, then realized that they had been speaking with their minds for the past minute with no skin-on-skin contact. Spock was still fully clothed with only one of his fasteners undone and McCoy still had his shirt on; neither their hands nor their faces had been touching. He blinked in surprise — and was further stunned when McCoy picked up on his emotions.

 _“What is it? What’s bothering you?”_ McCoy asked without breaking their kiss.

 _“Not ‘bothering’ per se, but... puzzling,”_ Spock replied. _“Now our mouths are in contact, so it is understandable... however, earlier we were communicating without any part of our skin being in contact.”_

_“Is that unusual?”_

_“Extremely.”_ Spock withdrew his lips from McCoy’s and sat up to confirm that they were not touching anywhere with their skin. _“Even between two powerful empaths, precise verbal communication is very rare. And although a telepath would be able to initiate mental communication with a non-telepath — even forge a bond which would allow the non-telepath to speak freely with them — I have never tested remotely near that range. Leonard, what have your test results shown?”_

 _“Nothing out of the ordinary,”_ McCoy answered, furrowing his brow. _“Humans aren’t generally known for their psionic ability... and I’m pretty sure my scores were within normal parameters — which means practically_ zero _compared to even Vulcan empathy, let alone, say, Betazoid telepathy.”_

 _“So then..._ this... _should not be possible,”_ Spock stated, gesturing between them at the dialogue taking place. _“And yet... we can prove — empirically, if need be — that it_ is _.”_

 _“Beats me, Spock.”_ McCoy yawned, tears forming in his eyes. _“We can run some tests to see if anything’s changed in either of us... but for now, I need to get some sleep.”_

 _“Yes, of course,”_ Spock agreed, getting off the bed so they could reposition themselves under the covers. He blushed as he realized that he had come inside his clothes earlier.

 _“You can wear my pajamas,”_ McCoy told him, making his blush deepen. The doctor laughed when he sensed Spock’s embarrassment. _“C’mere, sweetheart... let me take those clothes off you.”_

 _“I assume you wish to see the results of our activities?”_ Spock asked while acquiescing to being undressed.

 _“Damn right I do.”_ McCoy’s lips twitched when he opened up Spock’s trousers and saw the damp, greenish stain on his underwear. _“In fact, I think I have just enough time to clean this up before we go to bed.”_

 _“That’s really not necessary,”_ Spock began but, feeling McCoy’s sincere delight at seeing the evidence of his sexual attraction, he did not resist when McCoy removed his underwear and began licking off the traces of come on his penis. He was too thoroughly spent to even respond with a twitch, but McCoy didn’t mind.

_“My beautiful, perfect Vulcan cock... No, I don’t care about that, Spock — I wouldn’t be able to do much about it now, anyway. Tomorrow is swimming-with-Jim day so I have to get up extra early. Just let me lick it clean and I’ll grab you some clothes. So pretty! Such a perfect little specimen you are!”_

Spock stopped blushing but was instead awed by the fact that McCoy had said so with utter sincerity and not even a hint of sarcasm. If Spock had not been able to sense — beyond the shadow of a doubt — the truth behind his lover’s words, he might have struggled to accept them. The realization prompted him to grab McCoy’s hands, halting his ministrations, and sit beside him on the bed.

“I want you to know,” Spock said, speaking aloud for the first time in a long while, “that I truly believe you are perfect too. You are perfect for _me_. We are... two halves of a whole. We are stronger, better, when we are together. And you are so beautiful... and handsome....”

Spock could not think of all the other things he had wished to say a moment ago; he was drowning in the depths of McCoy’s eyes, which were regarding him with warmth and happiness and peace. There was a tranquility in them that Spock could not remember ever seeing before.

“I know, Spock,” McCoy replied, then he pulled the Vulcan back into his lap and held him tightly. “I know,” he whispered in Spock’s ear, blinding him with the intensity of the crackling white lightning storm he had conjured around and between and within them. “I know... _Ashayam_.”


	29. A Moment to Meditate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! At least this is a longer chapter than usual... :)

Spock woke when McCoy’s alarm sounded but noted that the doctor hit the snooze button and was unconscious again the next instant. It was supremely comfortable lying together, sharing each other’s warmth, so he could not blame McCoy for wanting to stay in bed a little longer. Spock sensed his lover’s contentment and smiled. McCoy had dressed him in his pajamas and underwear (just purchased since their return to Yorktown) but had opted to sleep in the nude himself since the increased temperature of the room made it comfortable enough for him to do so. Although Spock wanted to turn around to face him — to see his peacefully slumbering face — he did not wish to rob his lover of what little rest he might gain from the extra few minutes, so he lay still and tried to keep his thoughts tranquil to avoid disturbing him.

It was baffling to Spock that they were able to communicate as clearly as they did without physical contact, let alone psionic contact, but he knew that if anybody could figure out the medical mystery, it would be McCoy. The results of their brain scans during their communication would no doubt be fascinating. Obviously they had moved past the realm of empathy into telepathy; which one of them had enabled it was the question. _“Or perhaps there was some mutual contribution... a synergetic increasing of our abilities due to their combination,”_ Spock mused.

 _“It’s too early to be using such big words,”_ McCoy thought at him and yawned. Spock turned to him in chagrin.

_“I am sorry... I did not intend to wake you.”_

_“’S okay. Have to get up anyway.”_ McCoy yawned again and shut off the alarm before it could go off. _“Sorry I can’t cook breakfast today.”_

_“Would you like me to?”_

_“No, don’t worry — I don’t have time to sit down and eat. Plus it’s better to have just a nutrition bar before swimming.”_ As McCoy got up and shuffled into the bathroom, Spock could feel the idea spark in his mind. _“Hey, you wanna join us?”_

Spock contemplated the question while memorizing the sight of McCoy standing naked in the doorway. _“Thank you, but... perhaps another time. I would not want to intrude... and I believe I will benefit from some time spent alone in contemplation.”_

 _“I haven’t given you a moment of peace, have I?”_ McCoy stepped into the shower for a quick wash. _“That was deliberate, you know — didn’t want to give you the chance to run away. Have I fucked your brains out yet?”_ he added with a flash of humor.

 _“I do not believe that is anatomically possible,”_ Spock replied in as droll of a tone as he could muster. It was harder to keep his emotions from seeping into his thoughts, he realized. _“However, since you are a doctor, I hope you would be able to rectify the situation before there is any permanent damage.”_

McCoy’s laugh resounded in Spock’s mind. It felt good, happy, and like a long, luxurious stretch — as though the man had not laughed full-heartedly in a long time. Spock contemplated that for a moment before getting up himself, then padding over to the kitchen to retrieve two nutrition bars. McCoy came out of the bathroom, still damp, and dressed quickly.

“Say,” he asked aloud as he tucked a fresh hospital uniform into his gym bag, “would you mind if I told Jim about... y’know... _us_?”

“Of course not,” Spock answered, offering him one of the bars. “It was only because of your suggestion that it would be more tactful to... keep this under wraps, as they say, to avoid hurting Nyota that I agreed to requesting Mr. Scott’s silence, but conversely _Jim_ would be hurt if we kept it a secret from him. And there is really no reason to do so.”

“Well, that’s what I thought, but I wanted to make sure.” McCoy took the bar but chose to lean in to kiss Spock instead of eating it. _“He’d sniff it out soon enough, so I figure it would be better to make a clean breast of it right away. Although of course he’s gonna tease us —_ both _of us — to no end over this.”_

 _“I am prepared to endure the consequences,”_ Spock thought back at him without breaking the kiss. He could taste McCoy’s toothpaste and decided he liked it well enough to insert his tongue as deep inside McCoy’s mouth as it would go. The Human groaned and broke away.

“You’re gonna make it impossible for me to go swimming,” he grumbled, his cheeks flushed.

“That would allow us to spend more time together... but it would be rude... to miss... your appointment... with Jim,” Spock said between placing quick kisses on McCoy’s clean-shaven cheek.

“Mmm... hold that thought until I get back tonight, all right?”

“Of course,” Spock replied, backing off since he felt the pressure of time beginning to weigh on his lover’s mind. “I will attempt to cook some Terran cuisine for dinner.”

“Yeah?” McCoy was thrilled at the idea — Spock could sense the excitement tingle through him. “I’ll call when I leave the hospital then.”

After one last, lingering kiss, McCoy dashed out of the apartment. Spock followed his progress with his mind, noting that he wolfed down his bar in the lift before sprinting to the nearest transporter. He wondered how far they could be and still communicate telepathically, but he decided not to test it and distract McCoy when he was in a hurry. It would be better to experiment with their limits in a controlled fashion at some later date.

Spock replicated a mug of tea and sat at the table to nibble his bar, making a mental list of groceries to purchase for dinner, including more nutrition bars for busy mornings like these. Spock smiled at the prospect of sharing many future mornings and evenings with McCoy. It seemed like an inevitability now, although he had not even considered the possibility until only two days ago. A lot had happened in those two days — a whirlwind of events and emotions — so Spock was glad to have some time to meditate and reassert order in his mind.

First, however, he needed to clean the underside of the table and set the stain-bot to work on the carpet. His semen had dried and hardened but was still visible as pale green spatters. Spock glanced with embarrassment at the couch which was similarly stained. McCoy might enjoy seeing those marks as proof of the Vulcan’s enjoyment of their union, but Spock was confident that there would be plenty of occasions to recreate them, so he determined to clean all traces off the rented furniture with the stain-bot. He also needed to do some laundry; specifically, his own clothes which he had soiled last night in his haste to satisfy his lover’s needs. McCoy’s bedsheets needed to be washed as well. Realizing that he had much to do before he would feel comfortable retreating to his own apartment, Spock began tackling his tasks as efficiently as he could.

He removed the sheets and started the laundry, set the stain-bot to work on the couch, and wiped the underside and feet of the table clean, remembering (his cheeks warming) how McCoy had jumped his bones after watching him lean over to wipe the top. Spock knew by now, even if he didn’t quite understand why, that his buttocks were a source of erotic arousal for McCoy, so he planned to investigate ways of showing them off to their best advantage — at least in the privacy of their quarters. By the time he had finished taking a shower, his clothes were dry, as were the sheets. He made the bed and set the stain-bot to clean the entire floor just to be thorough. Taking one last look over McCoy’s rooms to ensure that everything was in order, Spock felt a swell of satisfaction... and happiness.

 _“There is a distinct pleasure in performing domestic tasks,”_ he thought as he headed back to his own rooms. _“Leonard has become my ‘home’ in more ways than I had expected... perhaps this is what Humans mean when they say something ‘grounds’ them.”_

Spock had much to ponder as he knelt in front of his coffee table, focusing on the flame of the candle. This was the Vulcan way of grounding oneself, valuable in its own right; however, he was glad that he had found McCoy as a means of grounding himself, too.

_“Since I am both Vulcan and Human, it is good and logical to avail myself of both.”_

Spock turned his gaze inward and became conscious of a wholeness in his being — a completeness and peacefulness which had always eluded him before. It startled him; he had considered such a state unattainable, beyond his reach, something to strive for and motivate himself to try harder to achieve, though without any real hope of achieving it. He wondered if this enlightenment had made his telepathic communication with McCoy possible... or if his communion with McCoy had allowed him to attain this newfound perfect contentment.

 _“As Leonard might say, it is the conundrum of the chicken and the egg,”_ he thought with wry humor. The paradox did not trouble him in the least, though it would have in the past. For now it was enough that he was assured of McCoy’s genuine affection for him. Everything else — their amazing ability to communicate, the tranquility he had sought so long in vain, the joy of sharing in domestic chores — was simply icing on the cake. He also realized that he had not suffered any heart palpitations or shortness of breath since confessing his attraction to McCoy and discovering that the feeling was mutual.

 _“I must compliment him on his excellent healing skills... as well as his bedside manner,”_ Spock noted with a private smile. The flame seemed to flicker in assent.

***

“So ask me about the girl I met last night,” Jim prodded McCoy with a shit-eating grin on his face. They had just finished a lap and had stopped to catch their breath by the wall.

“Wait, what happened to the hydroponics engineer?” McCoy demanded. “I thought you were gonna settle down with her!”

Jim shrugged. “It didn’t work out... I mean, she was great and all, but she wasn’t happy with the hours I’m working now — while I’m _here_ — so can you imagine how upset she’d be once the new Enterprise is finished? No, it’s for the best. But La’Shawna is different! She’s bright and witty and loves to go hiking....”

McCoy listened for a few minutes with the patience and inattention of a friend who knew that this dalliance, too, would not last long enough to warrant committing her vital stats to memory.

“She sounds really nice,” he remarked when Jim paused in his praise.

“She is! Really great... and she has friends, you know.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t need you to set me up, Jim.”

“Aw, c’mon, Bones! We’re gonna be here for a few months, so you could at least _try_ to meet someone! Even if it doesn’t last, wouldn’t it be worth the effort to—”

“I mean I don’t need you to set me up,” McCoy interrupted, “because I’m already seeing somebody.”

“ _What?_ Since _when?_ Did you actually get _laid?_ ” Jim demanded, rapid-fire and breathless with excitement.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” McCoy said, blushing furiously, “but _yes_. Don’t look so surprised!”

“That’s _great_ , Bones! Who is it? Anyone I know?” Jim punctuated his questions with punches (none too gentle) to McCoy’s bare chest. “Is she beautiful? Of course she’s beautiful! She hooked you, after all! So, was it good? Amazing? Are you gettin’ enough to make up for your dry spell now?”

“Dammit, Jim!” he protested, glancing around and hoping that none of the other people — mostly Starfleet personnel — had overheard Jim’s comments. The acoustics of the indoor pool carried sound far too well for his comfort. “Will you keep your voice down? We’re trying to keep it under wraps because... well, we have our reasons.”

“What? Is she married? Oh my God, Bones, are you having an affair with a married woman, you sly dog?”

“No! _Hell_ , no! But... okay, there’s an ex involved — a recent ex — so we don’t want to step on any toes.”

“Okay, right, so you’re keeping it low-key for now. But what’s she like? _God_ , Bones, you haven’t dated in, like, forever! I don’t even know your _type_.”

McCoy took a deep breath. He didn’t know how to soften the blow this bombshell would be, but he didn’t want to startle his friend into shouting things at the top of his lungs.

“Okay, so, first of all... it’s not a woman,” he told Jim, looking him dead in the eyes. That caught Jim so completely off-guard that he gaped at him, silent for the moment. “I know this may come as a surprise to you, but... yeah. I’m seeing a guy.”

“Holy _shit!_ Holy _shit_ , Bones!” Jim whispered with intensity. “You never told me you swung both ways! Why didn’t you ever tell me? I could’ve set you up with guys, too — don’t think I couldn’t’ve!”

“I know, I know... but that’s exactly _why_ I didn’t tell you! You would’ve pestered me twice as much if the pool were twice as big.”

“ _Shit_ , Bones! So... this guy.... Okay, are you on top? You _gotta_ be the top, right?”

“Jim!” McCoy hissed. He kept looking around, desperately hoping their voices weren’t carrying as much as he feared they were. “That... that’s _really_ none of your concern—”

“Oh. My. God. You’re bottoming? I would’ve never pegged you for a bottom! Like, seriously—”

“I didn’t say that! God, would ya _listen_ for a second?” McCoy nearly growled, then sighed. “Not that it’s any of your business, _at all_ , but I haven’t bottomed... yet. But if he wants me to... then yeah, I would. Because it’s not that big of a deal, okay? And... I love him. I... I’d do anything to make him happy.”

Jim stared at him, a smile growing on his face until he was beaming.

“Aww, Bones... you found the right one? _The_ one?”

“I... I think so. At least... I hope so,” McCoy admitted.

Jim punched him again, much more softly, grinning with undisguised affection. “Aww, man... I’m so happy for you! Nobody deserves it more, Bones — I mean it.”

“Thanks.” McCoy felt warm all over, not just on his red-hot flushed face.

“So... who’s the lucky guy? And when do I get to meet him?” Jim prodded.

“Um... he’s... someone you know,” McCoy tentatively began.

“What? _Seriously?_ Oh my God, is it one of the crew?” Seeing McCoy nod, Jim finally put two and two together. “Oh. My. God! Is it _Spock?_ ” he asked with bated breath. “You were having brunch yesterday! So was that a _brunch_ brunch? Like, after you’d...?”

McCoy could only nod again, thinking his face might melt off from sheer embarrassment. If Jim didn’t kill him first; the now-famous captain of the Enterprise was punching him left and right in quick succession, almost knocking him back off his feet in the water, too excited to express himself with words.

“Oh my God. _Oh. My. Fucking. God!_ ” Jim let out at last, still tapping McCoy with his fists. “You? And Spock? I mean, I know he just broke up with Uhura — he told me himself the other day — but how’d’you manage to snap him up so _quickly?_ Were you just waiting for that to happen so you could swoop in and sweep him off his feet? Gimme _details_ , man — I need _details!_ ”

“Well... believe it or not,” McCoy started, still not sure he could believe it himself, “you know all those weird symptoms Spock was having? When he passed out?”

“Yeah? And you were taking care of him. Was that when it happened?”

McCoy smiled, remembering the surge of affection and unmitigated love that Spock had communicated to him through their mind-link. “No, it happened before. He was having all those symptoms because... he’d fallen for me. Back when we were on Altamid.”

Jim gaped at him again, his jaw hanging open, as he processed this information. “So... he _knew!_ When he told me about breaking up — and he never breathed a word about — no, wait, he _did!_ He asked about you, talking about getting back on the horse.... Oh my God, Bones! He was trying to get intel on you from me! And I never even _realized_....” Jim groaned.

“It’s all right, Jim,” McCoy assured him. “All’s well that ends well. Now, are we gonna get some laps in or what?”


	30. Surprises

True to his word, McCoy contacted Spock near the end of his shift at the hospital, but rather than call with the audio communicator, he concentrated on their telepathic connection and figuratively knocked on the door of Spock’s mind. Spock sensed it as a gentle nudging while he was portioning out a meat substitute onto wonton sheets.

 _“Leonard?”_ he queried back.

_“Yeah. Is this a good time?”_

_“Of course.”_ Spock could not suppress a smile even as he marveled at their newfound ability, which seemed to be working fine across a significant distance. _“I am preparing a dish that has many positive reviews. I hope it will be to your liking.”_

 _“I’m sure it will — I’m famished,”_ McCoy replied with fervor. _“I’m just finishing up some paperwork right now, so I’ll leave here in about fifteen, twenty minutes.”_

_“Will you be ready to dine as soon as you arrive home?”_

_“Sure! Why do you ask?”_

_“I was uncertain whether you would wish to shower before dinner... or if you might perhaps prefer to have_ dessert _first.”_

The impression Spock sent him left no doubt as to what sort of dessert he meant.

 _“Dammit, Spock! Don’t make me use the de-erector on myself again,”_ McCoy protested, his emotions already heated. _“But to answer your question, no, I don’t need to shower — I did an hour ago after surgery — and as for_ dessert _... I was hoping to try something_ new _tonight.”_

 _“Oh?”_ Spock physically raised an eyebrow, and although McCoy could not see it, he could sense it. _“That sounds... fascinating. Would you care to elaborate?”_

_“Not yet... but I think you’ll enjoy it. It’ll have to wait until after dinner, though; I had to rush through lunch so I’ll need some proper nutrition before we get around to it.”_

_“Understood.”_ Spock folded the wonton wrapper around its filling, wetting the last edge to glue it together. _“I will plan to have dinner ready in twenty-five to thirty minutes then.”_

_“God! I can’t wait.”_

The sudden and intense burst of warmth that enveloped Spock’s consciousness caught him by surprise; he realized a split-second later that it was McCoy’s attempt to communicate a hug or even a kiss. Spock considered reciprocating the affectionate gesture but — sensing that the doctor had already busied himself with his work, intent on finishing it as soon as possible so he could be with Spock in person — he restrained himself and returned his attention to the recipe instructions on his PADD. After rolling all the wontons, he set them in the air fryer, then mixed the ingredients for their dipping sauce. The rice was already cooking and would be finished ten minutes before McCoy’s arrival. Spock chopped the cabbage and other vegetables for the sesame slaw, feeling more contented — _happier_ — than he had in a long while.

He knew, with a sense he could not explain, when McCoy approached the building and got into the turbolift. Trusting his instinct, Spock put the edamame in the flash cooker before moving around the counter to welcome his lover home. He got to the door just as it opened.

“Honey, I’m — damn, you’re a sight for sore eyes — home!” McCoy announced while losing no time in wrapping his arms around Spock.

“I am pleased that you are pleased,” Spock responded, trying to keep a straight face as McCoy planted kisses all over it. When the doctor licked the vertical vein below his ear, however, a needy moan slipped out.

“Hot damn, Spock!” McCoy grinned at him, ecstatic at eliciting such a reaction from him. “You look good enough to eat, and something _smells_ good enough to eat, too! And I really like you in an apron.”

“It seemed the logical attire for cooking,” was Spock’s dry remark. He gave McCoy’s lower lip a peck before retreating to the kitchenette; McCoy trailed after him as though in a trance and wordlessly helped set the table. It was almost unconscious: Spock handed him the dishes along with the impression of where and how he wanted them placed. Seeing McCoy set them out exactly as he had intended, Spock wondered again what had caused their telepathic connection to become so strong — and in so short a time.

“About that,” McCoy began as if Spock had spoken aloud, “I asked around and got introduced to a doctor who’s been studying telepathy in Humans. She’s working with identical twins for a paper but says she would love to take some readings of us, so I set up a tentative appointment for next week. I hope that’s okay — it’s right after we both finish our duty shifts.”

“Of course. The results should be fascinating,” Spock said, sitting down.

“Yeah, and with any luck, we’ll get some answers as to how this all works.” McCoy deftly picked up a wonton with his chopsticks and took a bite, savoring the complex flavors. “This is delicious!”

Spock could feel McCoy’s appreciation as well as his quickly diminishing hunger, which was as intense. “Did you not have an adequate lunch?”

“Well, it was _adequate_... but not very filling,” McCoy answered. “Those nutrition bars can only do so much, especially when you’re on your feet most of the day.”

“It seems you need to take some of your own advice, _Doctor_ ,” Spock chided. “Or perhaps I ought to come visit you at your office to ensure that you eat properly.”

A shy smile tugged at the corners of McCoy’s mouth. “You would?”

“If it would promote healthier eating habits for you, yes.” Spock raised one eyebrow at him. “I have a vested interest in your health now... specifically, in maintaining your _stamina_.”

McCoy coughed, nearly choking at the innuendo. After swallowing hard, he growled, “Spock, your timing is deplorable! But I wholeheartedly agree that my stamina should be maintained... at _all_ costs.” He ran one finger up Spock’s wrist, exposed where he had rolled his sleeves up out of the way for cooking. The touch sent a thrill of anticipation through Spock — and also a flash of an image: a pink, oddly shaped device.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Nothing!” McCoy said, hastily withdrawing his finger. “Nothing at all! Dammit, it’s gonna be next to impossible to keep secrets now....”

“But why would you wish to keep secrets?” Spock returned with some alarm.

“Nothing bad, Spock, just... _fun_ secrets. Surprises. But hell, we’ll never be able to plan surprise birthday parties for each other, will we?”

“Since I am not particularly fond of surprises, it does not bother me in the least,” Spock told him. “But... do you enjoy surprises?”

“Well, yeah... if they’re the nice kind.” McCoy tried to organize his panicked mind and find the right words while he chewed a large mouthful of slaw. “Like Jim’s birthday party, y’know? Of course he’d _said_ he didn’t want it to be a big deal, but... at least this year, I felt like he could use something festive... have all of his friends around to celebrate with him and remind him that he really _does_ have a great life. I was nervous at first ’cuz I wasn’t sure he would go for it, but when he saw all y’all waiting for him... well, that smile — that made it worthwhile.”

Spock noticed that McCoy’s bowl was almost empty, so he passed the rice. “I see.... The fact that he did not anticipate the party... made it seem that much more... celebratory.”

“Yes, exactly! And thanks — this is all amazing,” McCoy added while helping himself to another serving of slaw as well. “At least, I hope it did. I dunno, maybe he would’ve looked forward to it if he’d known we were gonna do it, anyhow, but I thought it might be more fun to surprise him.”

“Do you like _receiving_ surprises, also?”

“Nice surprises, yeah — definitely.” McCoy smirked and looked Spock over. “Like finding out that you’re a damn good cook, or how sexy you look in an apron... oh, _yeah_.”

Spock felt his cheeks blush at the frank assessment. “I shall endeavor to find other ways of surprising you, then... pleasantly, of course.”

Once they were finished with dinner, McCoy helped with the clean-up, although he distracted Spock by pressing up against him and kissing his neck so often that Spock teased he was delaying them from their “dessert.” McCoy quickly backed away at that, but not before Spock caught another glimpse of the pink object.

 _“A is for Alcohol and Acidocis; E is for Environment, Epilepsy, Electrolytes, Encephalopathy, and Endocrine disease; I is for Infection,”_ McCoy began reciting frantically in his mind.

“What are you trying to hide from me?” Spock demanded, although amused by McCoy’s efforts and the scowl he received in answer.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” McCoy shot back, resuming with, _“O is for Overdose and Oxygen deficiency; U is for Underdose and Uremia....”_

“I presume that is a mnemonic device. What is it for?”

“Possible causes for altered mental states. Where was I? AEIOU... T is for Trauma and Tumors,” McCoy continued aloud. Since they were now finished in the kitchen, he grabbed Spock by the hands and pulled him, carefully walking backward, to the bedroom. “I is for Insulin; P is for Psychogenics and Poison; and S is for Stroke or Shock.”

“Impressive. A very thorough list of causes,” Spock said. “Are you going to examine me for all of those?”

“Only if you want me to. Have you been experiencing an altered mental state?”

“In a manner of speaking. My recent obsession with you is certainly out of the normal parameters of my mental functions. It has even affected my efficiency.”

“Well... we can’t have _that_ , now, can we?” McCoy grinned and began undressing Spock. “You might need a... very _thorough_ examination. Luckily for you, I’m a trained professional... so we can ‘play doctor’ and also get some real results.”

Spock hummed his approval while undressing McCoy in turn. “I have heard something about this... activity. Is it as _invasive_ as the rumors suggest?”

“Oh, _very_ invasive. It was developed centuries ago, you know, when medical examinations were done by _hand_... by _touch_ and _feel_....”

The doctor punctuated his statements with gentle caresses of Spock’s chest, hips, and buttocks, drawing him close. Spock could sense McCoy’s excitement overlying his own heightened arousal. In fact McCoy was focusing very hard on Spock’s assets — all of his physical attributes that he found attractive — in what Spock realized was an attempt to avoid thinking of his promised surprise.

“I see. So is that what you meant when you said you wished to try ‘something new’ tonight?”

“Actually, no. If you don’t mind, I’d like to save that for another time.” After another teasing kiss, McCoy stepped out of his trousers and crawled onto the bed, crouching on all fours and giving Spock a come-hither look over one shoulder. “I have a little present for you... but you’ll have to get it yourself.”

To Spock’s surprise, there was a small pink object protruding from McCoy’s anus. Now that his lover was unclothed, Spock could even hear a faint humming sound emanating from it.

“What...?” He trailed off, at a loss for words.

“It’s a Sexpander™,” McCoy explained. “It gradually expands your sphincter muscles to prep you for penetration. I put it in almost two hours ago so I should be all set.”

Spock approached the bed, examining what he could see of the device, which was a handle just big enough to grip with his fingers. He did, then gingerly pulled it out. McCoy’s wanton moans at the process sent jolts of desire straight to Spock’s cock. After setting the dripping device on the bedside table, he discovered that McCoy was, indeed, quite ready for penetration, his cavity already slathered with lubricant.

“I’m all yours, sweetheart... _Ashayam_.”

Spock got up on the bed behind McCoy and ran his hands down the Human’s buttocks, causing sparks to ignite. He pulled apart the globes to better see McCoy’s gaping hole, and the sight of his lover so open and willing to take him awoke a deep, primal need within Spock. He could also sense McCoy’s anticipation, mingled with anxiety, as he hoped to please Spock with this reversal of roles. It reminded Spock that McCoy still needed reassurances since he could not sense Spock’s emotions like he could read his thoughts.

“You are... so beautiful like this,” Spock murmured, bending over McCoy’s back to whisper the words into his ear. “It must have been uncomfortable to have this inside for so long.... I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Leonard.” Spock ran his hands up and down McCoy’s back and sides, feeling the thrill his touches sent through McCoy as well as the warmth his praise spread deep within. McCoy’s breathing was growing harsh and labored, and with a shock Spock realized that his lover was _eager_ to have him penetrate him, even _lusting_ to feel him enter. When Spock rubbed the tip of his hardened length against McCoy’s perineum, the doctor groaned in protest.

“Quit teasing me,” he panted, “and just _fuck_ me already!”

“If you wish,” Spock replied, rubbing his cock around the Human’s balls, “but I would prefer to make love to you instead.”

“I don’t care — just put it _in_ me,” McCoy whined. “That damn machine has been driving me nuts!”

With a chuckle, Spock complied. He penetrated McCoy slowly, savoring how his cock sank into the tight flesh, even though he was ravenous to possess him. McCoy’s sexy groans were doing nothing to help Spock hold his libido in check. The combined sensations of his own penis and McCoy’s anus were nearly overwhelming, but Spock wanted to experience both so he could provide his lover with maximum pleasure. For McCoy the main feeling now was of fullness, just as for Spock it was of snugness — somewhat reminiscent of penetrating a woman but different in its contours.

 _“I had to guess how thick you were from memory,”_ McCoy thought at Spock. _“I hope it’s not too loose.”_

_“No, Ashayam — it is perfect. And I’m glad that you are not experiencing discomfort.”_

McCoy grunted and pressed back, deepening their physical connection. _“Fuck me, Spock! I want to feel you lose control... and come inside me... like a rutting animal.”_

A feral smile gripped Spock’s features. _“Be careful what you wish for, Leonard.”_

Spock began thrusting, growing more confident as he learned — as McCoy did, also — how well a Human body adapted to this kind of intrusion. He searched for McCoy’s prostate, then remembered that it was closer to the entrance than his own; they both cried out when he found the target, blinding pleasure rendering them oblivious to everything else. From that moment on Spock rutted, as McCoy had wished, like a wild animal, seeking and hitting his lover’s pleasure center with precision and driving them both up to the brink of ecstasy. He could not have paused there even if he had wanted to — he rushed them headlong over the edge, making them ejaculate simultaneously until they collapsed, trembling and spent, gasping in great draughts of air.

 _“That was... wonderful,”_ Spock told him, thinking because he could not yet speak.

 _“It was, wasn’t it?”_ McCoy exuded _HAPPY-HAPPY-CONTENT-RELAXED. “I wasn’t sure I would enjoy being the bottom, but I’m glad I tried it — I had no idea it would be so amazing!”_

 _“Perhaps because I have the advantage of feeling what you feel,”_ Spock mused.

_“Only because you care enough to make it feel good for me, too.”_

_“Of course I care, Leonard.”_ Spock finally pulled out of him so they could move into more comfortable positions — McCoy lying on his back and Spock on McCoy’s chest. _“I love you. More than I could ever have imagined possible.”_

 _“Yeah?”_ McCoy was grinning happily, but Spock could sense the faintest hint of worry behind it.

“Yes,” he answered aloud. “I love you, Leonard. Just as much, if not more, than you love me.”

Despite the happiness permeating McCoy, his eyes filled with tears. _“Wow,”_ was all he could think.

Spock kissed his tears away before pulling the sheet and blankets over them. Snuggled together, heedless of the semen staining the just-washed linens, they cocooned themselves in the warmth of their mutual affection as they fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long hiatus! I got sidetracked writing "Chocolate and Wine" after Valentine's. At least this chapter is a bit longer to make up for the delay. Hope y'all like it! ;)


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